Nightshade and Colovian Wine
by bluRaaven
Summary: In 4E 201 the Imperial City is a hive of intrigue and cutthroat politics. It is a dangerous place to be, full of equally dangerous people – and none more so than Wulfryk Blacktyde, scion of the once-proud Aemilia family, young entrepreneur by day and notorious crime boss by night. By comparison Argis is just a security guard who has fallen on hard times. 'Modern' Tamriel AU
1. Wulf: 1

WARNING for graphic violence, coarse language, homosexuality, sexual content and possible character death. Regrettably, I do not own Skyrim. Bethesda does.

Wulf is the protagonist of the Blacktyde Chronicles, though as an AU this work is a standalone and falls outside of the series.

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><p>The old leather recliner creaked softly as the man in it leaned back. It was the only sound to break the silence apart from the harsh breathing of the figure sitting on the other side of the massive bocote desk. 'The other side' being where no person ever wanted to end up, because it meant having to perch on a <em>very<em> uncomfortable chair, all the while getting a crick in the neck from having to look up at the Imperial City's most influential magnate.

Because it also meant they had fucked up.

The unfortunate woman to currently find herself under the scrutiny of her erstwhile employer's icy blue gaze was in her mid to late thirties. Her shoulder long ash brown hair stuck to her damp face in curly tresses. Sweat beaded a brow yet unmarred by wrinkles and her dark skin had a waxen pallor to it. She was shaking, and not because of the temperature of the room.

But then being apprehended on one's way home, trussed up and tossed in the cargo area of van would do that to any person.

"I am very disappointed, Saadia."

The Redguard jerked at the mention of her name, eyes wide, and shook her head, lips forming soundless words.

Wulfryk Blacktyde studied her in the dimmed light of his desk lamp. The Nord had his right ankle drawn up to rest atop his left knee, one arm casually draped over his seat's backrest. His head was cocked just a fraction to the side in a parody of honest curiosity.

His charcoal suit was freshly pressed, his pose relaxed, but just like the setup was carefully chosen for intimidation, he had studied it in great detail and on many a occasion.

"I received a report today. Somebody's leaked the schedules for our latest shipment to Skyrim."

When he did not receive an answer, Wulfryk gestured lazily with one hand and a tall, wiry woman stepped out of the deep shadows in the room's corner. Saadia flinched with every click of heels against stone. She struggled to turn around, pitching forward in the chair, but it was in vain. Then a slim but strong hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back.

"Well?"

Some who were brought before him babbled as soon as their gag was removed, a veritable fountain gushing apologies and pleas in equal measure. The Redguard was of the defiant, sullen kind.

The Nord met his enforcer's eyes and inclined his head. Sometimes, a little motivation was needed to get an unwilling tongue to wag.

If the bonds had not held her in place Saadia would have doubled over as the fist crashed into her abdomen. When, after she had caught her breath, the Redguard still did not talk, Jenassa cracked her knuckles and slapped her soundly across the face, whipping the bound woman's head around.

That's why Wulf liked her. Talos knew he did not keep the Dunmer around for her looks. She had a harsh, bony face and a too pointy chin to be ever called beautiful, but she was efficient.

Saadia sobbed, blood and spit running from a split lip. Wulf gave her a moment to rethink her dedication to obstinacy before he feigned a sigh.

"Break her knees."

Jenassa moved without hesitation.

"Wait!" the Redguard shrieked suddenly and Wulfryk held up his hand to signal Jenassa to do just that. "I didn't do it!"

The Nord shook his head, the tips of his black bangs shading his eyes. It was the wrong answer and they both knew it. Saadia just had not realized it yet.

"Is that so?" he asked.

"It wasn't me," Saadia cried, voice too shrill. "I didn't do it!"

"Hmm," Wulfryk hummed and picked up his as of yet untouched glass of water, swirling the liquid inside once before he raised it to his lips and took a measured sip. "Are you sure?" He wiped his upper lip with his fore and middle finger, the short hairs of his well-trimmed beard making a soft scratching sound against the calloused pads of his fingers.

"It wasn't me."

It came out in an almost petulant whisper and was probably wishful thinking on the prisoner's part. Why did it always have to be like this? Wulf's hands opened briefly before coming together again, the woman's eyes following every studied movement. "So you said." He pointed an accusing finger right at Saadia's face with the hand that still held the glass. "Which is funny because I have witnesses that saw you talk to some friends of yours behind the loading docks two nights ago."

"They're lying! I swear it wasn't me!" A pink tongue appeared between her cracked lips, dabbing at the corner. "It was that Nazeem!"

A hopeless case, he should have known from the start. Wulf could play this game all night but, frankly, he had better things to do. He reached into his desk's right hand drawer and pulled out a manila envelope, letting it fall open in his palm. He thumbed through the papers inside until he pulled out a glossy print that showed Saadia and two men in the traditional garb of the Alik'r.

There were more, but he needed only the one.

Wulf spun the picture so that Saadia could look at herself as she handed over a sealed envelope to the shorter of her countrymen. If they'd only done something harmless such as refreshing an old penpalship or trading appallingly syrupy love poems there would have been no reason for her to lie about it.

"Lydia's got quite the talent, wouldn't you say?" Wulfryk remarked lightly, half to his prisoner and half to the woman at his side. "Maybe she should consider branching out."

Janassa snorted dryly and proceeded to pick something from between her teeth.

It was impossible for a person of Saadia's complexion to turn green, but she did manage a wonderful shade of raw umber.

Wulf dropped the envelope and leaned forward, immaculately manicured nails clicking over the polished granite inlayed into his desk's tabletop. "Now. How about you tell me the truth?"

"They made me! Said they were going to take me back if I didn't give them what they wanted! Kematu-"

"You should have taken your chances with Kematu."

Wulfryk did not need to tell Saadia what happened to double-crossing bitches, nor how serious the situation was. The damage had already been done. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up slowly. When he was done he pulled the other object from the already open drawer and put it down where the lamp's light caught the black of the metal. Saadia began to sob when she saw him assemble the gun. She did not know that he had a perfectly serviceable one on him, but this was his game and he played it to the end.

When word got out and despite the limited amount of participants in this little get-together – soon to be reduced further – it would, Wulfryk wanted people to fall on their knees and beg for forgiveness for harbouring _thoughts_ about crossing him.

"I was going to let you live," the Nord began conversationally as he screwed on the silencer on the pistol. "But I don't like it when people lie to me."

"You bastard!" Saadia screeched, rocking her chair and yelled more obscenities, her face a blotchy red in colour and wet with tears.

"Hush," Wulf told her kindly. "You will upset mother." It didn't matter. She wouldn't hear the gun, and she wouldn't hear any screams. He slid magazine in with a firm tap, like slapping the butt of one of the Lucky Strike's serving girls. It clicked into place and Wulf stood up and stretched, grimacing when a vertebra popped in his lower back. He released the safety and racked the gun.

He aimed it at her heart and squeezed the trigger.

Two cracks echoed in the empty space and Saadia slumped forward, held up only by the rope that bound her to the chair, her string of profanities cut short. Wulfryk put down the gun and flicked the switch on the desk lamp.

The show was over.

Wulf knew his way around his bureau even in the dark. When he turned on the ceiling light on his way out it was only for his remaining employee's sake.

"Jenassa, take out the trash."

He did not usually carry out executions at the family estate, but this had come up rather unexpectedly and at this hour he wanted to make the trip to a suitable location even less than he wanted to ruin his carpet. At least once she was done bagging the body, Janessa didn't have to haul it far. Not that Wulf planned to lend a hand. He did his own dirty work, but he did not clean up.

"Take the chair too," he tossed over his shoulder, nose wrinkling in disgust. "It's got piss all over it."

Saadia had no family and nobody would miss her. Overall Wulf's favourite type of employee. Like most of the others she had come to him from Whiterun. When the city had been burned to the ground – by dragons of all things – many of its former residents had ventured south. Those that were caught in the Imperial City's web of intrigue or Wulfryk's own nets never left again.

oooo

From the second basement level an elevator took Wulf past the garage and the main hall, and to the upper floor. The ride was short and he used the time to check his appearance in the mirror to make sure there were no stray droplets of blood on his suit. He wanted to spare his delicate mother the sight. And besides, they would be impossible to get out once they set in.

Wulf was glad to step out of the elevator and into the dark corridor of the mansion. The muted lights inside gave his skin a sallow look. He rounded the corner only to be beset by two ash-coloured greyhounds that crowded around his legs, yelping and licking his hands.

The guard that followed on their heels did neither, but he inclined his head respectfully.

"All's quiet. Lady Aemilia has retired to her private quarters," he responded to an unasked question.

Wulf resisted the sudden urge to scratch the other man's ear as well. If he didn't get permanently stuck to the gel, then the grumpy Nord's pride wouldn't take it well, though somehow he did stomach both bad poetry and foreign foodstuff and in remarkable quantities at that. He also had a twin, big hairy and dumb, and far better company. Wulf hired their like by the pounds, but somewhere along the way these two had become family.

He continued on, past the main staircase and taking a turn to the right. Light was spilling from under a door at the end of the hallway and Wulf rapped his knuckles against the wood before he entered. The marble bathroom was flooded in soft light from the crystal chandeliers overhead and a woman in a pastel salmon evening gown turned when she heard him knock. Her greying hair was artfully done up, a collier of pearls gracing her pale neck. She smiled when she saw him.

"Hello, mother." Wulfryk kissed her soft, powdered cheek. She smelled of something flowery and fresh that he remembered from his childhood. "You look gorgeous today."

"Good evening, darling." One of her hands came to rest on his bearded cheek, her dark, expressive eyes crinkling at the corners.

Eleanora Catalina Aemilia was a woman whose beauty had only increased over the years.

Wulf washed his hands at one of the sinks, and tried to dry them off with one of the plush towels that he suspected were purely decorative and true to his prediction proved water-repellent. "How was the Tullia's party?"

"Delightful. I am ever grateful your father rescued me from a life of being married to Brutus. Did you know he is being dispatched to Skyrim?"

Wulf grunted in answer. "Let's hope snow agrees with him." He checked his watch and bit his tongue before an inopportune curse could slip out.

His mother picked up on her son's distraction, a single line forming on her forehead. "Are you leaving again?"

"Just going out with some friends. It's pool night," he reminded her. And thanks to Saadia he no longer had time to change clothes. "I'm running late."

"Did anything... happen?" Her voice carried worry, but also a hint of knowing that made Wulf duck his head in order to escape the gaze of the only person who could read him like an open book.

He cleared his throat before answering. "Business."

His mother's mouth went flat, the fine lines around it hardening. She acknowledged his answer in the same way she always did when he mentioned his _other_ work, the one he had taken over after his father had stepped down. It was an unspoken agreement between them. She did not ask and he did not talk about it.

"I met Lady Maeve," Leanora radically changed the subject with a flurry of activity as she disappeared into her evening bag right up to her elbows. "They have a surname now, thanks to her grandson. _An Daingneach_."

"Hm?" Wulf didn't look up from the assortment of cologne bottles that he was sniffing, trying to choose the right scent for the night. "Doesn't sound Nord."

"That's because it is isn't," his mother replied. "Her family comes from the Reach, remember?"

Wulf didn't and neither could he say that he cared. He did not see where this was going or what it had to do with him when his mother suddenly handed him a folded card.

"Here. This is for you."

"A gift? For me? You shouldn't have." Although he knew that she would remain unmoved by it, Wulfryk turned the full force of his smile on his lady mother. He did not open the card, holding the creamy slip of paper between his fingers like it might bite him.

Eleanora chuckled; a rich throaty sound. "It's your date."

Wulf managed to keep up his smile through sheer force of habit. It was not the first such appointment his mother had arranged for him and it probably would not be the last. Secretly he believed that she took a twisted sort of pleasure whenever he turned down one of her friend's daughters and in knowing that she was the only woman in his life.

Apart from Lydia, though Wulf wasn't sure whether Lydia counted. She was rude, drank beer and got into belching contests with her boyfriends.

"I'm not interested," he pointed out like he did every time.

And just like every time, she ignored him. "Don't be silly, darling. It's just dinner."

Wulfryk sighed and pocketed the card without sparing it another glance. "Let me guess," he said in a tone both honeyed and scathing; a trademark of all wealthy and influential sons who did not dare to cuss in their mothers' faces. "She studied law in Shornhelm? Or the arts in Alinor?"

Being the city's most eligible bachelor wasn't nearly half as fun as it sounded. Even less so when everybody expected him to do something about it.

"Oh, nothing of the kind, I assure you."

Wulf did not trust the sparkle that suddenly flared to life in his mother's black eyes. It could have been just a reflection from the candelabras. It could also have been a sign of possession or another gate to Oblivion opening. Wulf checked his pockets for his wallet and turned smartly, knowing a lost cause and when it was prudent to beat a retreat. "I've got to go."

"I _do_ expect you to attend." All merriment was gone and Lady Aemilia had taken Leanora's place.

"I always do," Wulf grumbled, feeling sufficiently chastened despite the lack of an actual reprimand. He did not check his stride or look back, only waved on his way out with the hand that was clutched around his car keys.

Now it was his mother's turn to make a small 'hm' sound. Unlike his own unrefined, caveman-like grunts however, hers carried an air of disapproval tipped off with a ton of implication about the lecture he'd receive if he did not make good on that assurance. "Be punctual."

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> So, this is an idea that's taken hold of me during the holidays. Updates sporadically.


	2. Argis: 2

The best thing to be said about the bureau was that once he was inside, Argis no longer had to look at the building – a squat block with brown reflective windows set into a facade of dirty concrete. Because it was midday it was mostly empty, the employees having filed out to enjoy their well-deserved break in gaggles of twos or threes until the only persons left were Argis and the receptionist. Her name tag read 'Sybilla', but Argis did not intend to get personal enough with her to ever use her name. She had to be in her middle forties, one of those women who didn't know when to admit their age and stop dressing like teenagers. Rectangular, colourful glasses framed bored eyes. She was peeking over their rims as she read, large shimmering disks dangling from her ears. With her short spiky hair, most likely dyed and gelled to stand up, she reminded him of a puffed-up condor.

Argis coughed into his fist – better than laughing out loud – and shifted, crossing his legs at the ankle. The quiet of the waiting room was disturbed only by the hum of the ceiling fan, its blades rotating lazily and doing nothing to improve the air which was thick with the smells of smoke and stale coffee. Underlying those was a faint odour of _office_: a most unenticing mix of sweat, paper, and cleaning agents.

Argis wouldn't be here at all if he didn't need the money. He was low on cash and behind on his rent and he'd rather the landlord not shut down his electricity. Argis consoled himself with the thought that if that happened he could always stay with his grandmother. He knew that she wouldn't mind, but he'd still feel like he was imposing. Grandmother Maeve was the only family he had here and a sweet old lady who kept sending him more meals than he could eat alone. Argis only wished she wasn't as keen on meddling in his private life.

The Nord had come to Cyrodiil with only two duffel bags of his belongings and a reputation that landed him a job on his first interview. Things hadn't gone smoothly after that. Now he didn't own anything of value and he couldn't sell the beaten-up truck he had to drive since he had wracked his motorcycle.

Varus had hired him before. Hopefully, he would again.

Argis moved again, transferring his weight to his other leg and counted the dead flies trapped by a piece of sticky tape that hung from the ceiling. He had been offered a seat and refused, preferring to stand in the doorway with his arms crossed. The dinky chairs looked like they might break down under his bulk and he was going to spare himself the indignity of having to pick his ass off the lime green linoleum floor.

The receptionist licked a finger with a neon pink fake nail attached to it and turned a page of her glossy gentleman's magazine. A small table in the room's corner was drowning under the number of journals filled with ads for watches that Argis could not afford and grooming products that he did not use. This month's special apparently was an interview with some successful businessman.

Sybilla was staring at him like he was the love of her life.

Argis coughed again then ventured another glance at the cover. If he met the guy in a bar he wouldn't hesitate to ask him out, provided that people like him frequented the same locals Argis did and that he wasn't put off by the blatant display of wealth first. That outfit looked expensive. Hell, the guy's _haircut_ looked expensive. He had short black hair, just the perfect degree of mussed up that walked the line between casual and professional that Sybilla probably wished she had and would never achieve, and bangs that were just shy of falling into his eyes. The man was laughing, striking blue eyes that could only be photoshopped or contacts sparkling over a radiant white smile which was framed by a neatly trimmed beard. Argis fought the absurd urge to smile back, because the damned picture just oozed charisma.

The nameless businessman was by far the most attractive thing in the whole building.

He also looked like a Nord. Argis wondered if he was.

Just then the door to Varus' office opened and young man strode out, chest first. The rest was burly, beardless and utterly unremarkable, but judging by the spring in his step, the lad's application had been a success.

The snowberry was wearing a suit. Argis didn't even own a bloody suit.

His everyday wear consisted of combat boots, cargo pants in the colour 'mud' – it said do right on the washed out label that was no longer readable – and black or white shirts only, to keep laundry simple. Today it was black. His brown leather jacket was folded and hung from his forearm.

Argis had been born and raised in the Reach and even at their worst Imperial winters were milder than Skyrim in the springtime.

He moved for Varus' office. The Nord understood not interrupting two people in the middle of an interview, but he would not wait to be called upon like a dog. The receptionist noticed too late and began to protest, only for Argis to ignore her and brush past, shouldering open the doors that led to the crammed room. One glimpse was all it took Argis to verify that the place had not changed since the last time he had been here.

Varus was broad with a moustache that didn't quite distract from his receding hairline and bags under his eyes that could probably do double duty as grocery bags if he ever forgot to bring any. He was also currently standing behind his desk which disappeared under the papers spread out over it. Argis didn't think the ambience of the room could get any lower without hitting the sub-basement, but a dusty plastic plant and a toy dog that bobbed its head when you touched it did a marvellous job of both serving as anti-decoration and making him rethink his former opinion.

Argis' eye came to rest on a golden triangle with an engraving of Varus' name that was being misused as a paperweight and he wondered if the Imperial needed the daily reminder to keep track of it.

He cleared his throat. "Heard you were short on manpower. Want to hire somebody who won't get your client killed?" Argis was a firm believer of getting straight to the point.

Varus had never been as much his boss as an intermediary between Argis and the people who were in need of his services. The Imperial had furthermore been glaring at him from the moment he had entered without waiting for an invitation. But because it was difficult to feel cowed by a man who barely reached his shoulder, Argis didn't even bother pretending for the other guy's ego.

Varus rummaged around in his junkyard of a desk and fished out a cigar, clipped the end and lit it. He took a deep drag and grunted in pleasure, sinking into a chair that groaned under his weight. The gesture lost all meaning because Argis knew that it was a cheap cigar, just like the brown tweed suit was old and too short in the arms as well as too loose in the shoulders. Opulent blue plumes of smoke began to waft around the Imperial man's sagging jowls, smelling like a burning heap of dung.

Argis was thoroughly unimpressed. He might not look much better clothing-wise, but he at least wasn't pretending to be something he was not. Which would be anything except for a guy who was remarkably good at killing people – and if he turned his talent to a less destructive use, also fairly good at keeping them alive.

"Well, well. Didn't think we'd see _you_ here again," Varus spoke around the butt end of his cigar, his words distorted.

Argis shrugged. He'd had his reasons for leaving – good ones – and he had a reason for coming back – less so – but still. It wasn't like he could change anything about what had happened, so it was better not to dwell on it.

"What makes you think I want you back?" the Imperial sneered when he received no answer.

"The fact that I know you're covering for a politically important client who's pissed off the wrong people," Argis replied. "How many agents of yours can handle potential assassinations?" The answer was that as far as he knew he was the only one with more field experience than theoretical education. "Don't tell me it's that milksop from before," Argis said with a jut of his chin towards the door and a dark chuckle.

Varus' mean soured. "You don't fulfil the requirements," he stated with a pointed squint at the Nord's scarred face.

Argis' amusement died right in his throat. "Because of the eye." One-eyed bodyguards were about as high in demand as amputee recruits. Which was not at all. Nobody wanted to hire him again despite his outstanding recommendations. From two Jarls, no less. Fucking Imperials and their adherence to bullshit formalities.

"That too."

"Look." Argis squeezed the bridge of his nose, knowing he should show a modicum of tact and decorum and forsaking both at the same instance he thought of them. He'd been told that his attitude was a problem on many an occasion. It was funny how people forgot about that the minute he saved their ungrateful asses. "Do you want the guy to live or not?"

Varus chewed on his cigar and Argis could practically see the wheels turning behind his small eyes. Lots of money to be made for the bureau as well as a good name for the man running it versus having to take back the best man who had ever worked for this shithole. Didn't seem like too bad a deal, did it?

Apparently Varus arrived at the same conclusion. "There's nothing wrong with your work," the Imperial admitted with forced cheer. "It's _you_ I don't fucking like."

"The feeling's mutual," Argis snorted. "But we both know you don't have anybody else for the job. So– "

Varus' fat fingers, covered in golden rings, drummed on the table. "I can assign you with Yngvar, Daruis and Rufus," he finally decided.

Argis barely suppressed a curse that included the Imperial's mother, a hagraven and a herd of goats, all involved in behaviour of the indecent kind. He settled for "That's not my team" instead.

"Apart from not being your team any longer, they already have an assignment," Varus snapped, apparently having arrived at the end of his patience, not that there had been much of it in first place.

Argis sighed and tried the reasonable approach because he didn't think wringing the other man's neck was going to win him any favours. Not with said man. With everybody else it was a fifty-fifty chance whether they would rejoice at the brutal murder of their boss or lament the loss of their work. "Isn't this guy paying you a fortune to keep his hide intact?"

"That is not the point– "

"I want my team back."

"You can get your _job_ back and be grateful," Varus barked.

It was then that Argis wondered, not for the first time, how much work it would be to open an agency of his own. He was tired of dealing with people like that pesky Imperial.

"Fine," he agreed, because he had no other option. But I'm in charge." Argis knew Yngvar and Rufus and he could beat the living daylights out them and every other security officer that worked for Varus. And they knew it too, which was why nobody had ever asked him to prove it.

Varus grudgingly accepted and Argis could breathe a little easier.

"And I want half of the pay up front."

The Imperial took a pull on his cigar, a grin forming on his face. It was not a pleasant expression. "That's not how this works." He was being obstinate. It had worked just fine before Argis' unscheduled leave.

"You can pay up or I'll ask around how much blood money there's on this poor sod's head," Argis said quietly. "Crottus, wasn't it? Patriarch of the Maro family? Would be quite the blow to your reputation if he died with your boys on watch."

Argis was first and foremost a mercenary. His allegiance was bought, not won, and he'd suffer no crisis of conscience if he had to change loyalties to keep himself above water.

Varo snarled, looking positively constipated, but he hauled his bulk up and disappeared into the back room. When he came back it was with a fat wad of cash. He tossed it to Argis, as if handing it to the Nord was beneath him. "Your shift starts on Turdas."

Argis grinned and touched the roll of money to his temple in a parody of a salute before he pocketed it. He slapped the bobblehead Chihuahua on the head in farewell and heard Varus' curses follow him to the front door where he savoured his first lungful of fresh air. He had almost a week's worth of free time before he had to go to work and a date to get ready for in the evening. Things were finally looking up.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> I swear I'm working on HT, but I just had an idea for the plot of this story and I'm WAY too excited about it. Also, it's got Argis so I hope you'll forgive me :)


	3. Wulf: 3

Wulf brushed the comb through his black hair one last time before he was forced to admit that is was as perfect as it was going to be. He mostly did it not because it needed more styling, but because he liked the feeling of the sharp teeth against his scalp. Sometimes he envied his cat, which was currently perched atop the bathroom's black marble countertop with her tail curled over her paws, observing her human's every move with rapt attention.

"What do you think, Toots? How do I look?" he asked her and received a questioning stare in response.

Unlike him, she preferred to judge people in silence.

Wulfryk leaned closer to the frameless, well-lit mirror that hung above the sinks to get a closer look at eyebrows. Nothing he needed to fix there, thank Dibella – not that he normally had to, apart from taking care of the odd hair that decided to grow where it shouldn't. He had showered, trimmed his beard a fraction, brushed his teeth and dressed up. The Nord was wearing a dark suit and a striped tie of midnight navy and electric blue to accentuate the colour of his eyes, one of his best features in his own, not-so-very-humble opinion.

Wulf sighed; he'd rather curl up on the couch with his laptop and a black and white flick than go out. He could microwave some popcorn and munch it by the handful, but no, he had promised to, and going back on one's word was a bad habit better left uncultivated.

Which was how he found himself browsing through bottles of cologne, discarding the first one he sniffed for being too obtrusive. The second was too fresh and the third one he only used in summer. What he wanted was a scent that was not too strong or heavy, but more subtle; just a hint of spice and smoke. Wulf picked a small opaque flagon from the back of the shelf. He reserved it for special occasions like dates or a business deal with somebody who was attracted to him when he wanted to throw them off-balance during negotiations, and applied a modest amount.

The scent was a reliable old friend that he knew made people lean just that bit closer to better catch a whiff of it. He had, shamelessly, tested its effects on his own employees.

Wulf enjoyed flirtation and the mind-game that allowed him to manipulate others, to coerce them into doing all sorts of naughty things they would never consider under normal circumstances but sometimes agreed to when he whispered dirty little nothings into their ears. He liked to show off and loved to be desired, and to let everybody around him see and long for what they couldn't have.

Maybe he'd get his designated date to suck him off. There was even a chance that she had been given strict instructions to sleep her way up, in which case the evening might not turn out to be a complete waste of time. Digging for gold was hard work – sometimes literally so – and few got far by just shaking hands.

Wulf jumped a bit when somebody knocked on his penthouse's front door as if there wasn't a perfectly usable doorbell right next to it. Security had received instructions earlier this day to not bother ringing him up when somebody came to see him, and Amren, who was probably still a little nervous after his recent, near-fatal accident with a flying printer, wouldn't risk antagonizing his boss in any way. It mattered little; Wulf was _always_ on time, and the only person he was currently displeased with was his lady mother. She had given away his home address, though he had asked her more than once not to do that. If he opened that door to find a gang of Rimmenese mercs lurking behind it, he was blaming her.

Though the thought of a hitman posing as his date did bring a small, cruel smirk to Wulf's face. He checked his reflection one last time. The man in the mirror looked ravishingly handsome, if decidedly unhappy. Wulf stuck his tongue out at him before he turned off the lights and moved to receive his guest, putting on his best fake smile as he unlocked the massive safety door.

Contrary to his expectations, it wasn't a lawyer lady from Shornhelm that stood in the corridor – and it most certainly wasn't an aspiring artist from Alinor.

The other Nord was something between two to three inches taller than Wulf, but he had the breadth of shoulders to make him appear bigger. He filled out the doorway nicely, leaning against the frame in a relaxed way.

"Yes?" Wulf asked when his visitor pushed off the wall and stepped closer, affecting boredom. "Can I help you?"

Mr. Sex on Legs pulled out a single red rose from behind his back, giving it a small twirl.

Oh. _Oh._

"Oh." Very smooth, that. Wulf could have bitten off his own tongue because he obviously wasn't making much of a first impression.

The blond cocked an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile playing around his full lips which were framed by a neat beard. "I really hope I'm at the right address, because this is starting to feel awkward."

Even his voice was nice, deep and rough, the warm timbre going straight to Wulf's groin. "Yeah." He raked his eyes over the guy, from his dark jeans to the grey turtleneck that left very little of the body it covered to the imagination, and up to his mane of dark blond hair, a few strands of which were actually braided in the traditional Nord fashion that Wulf himself did not follow.

The other man's left cheek was marred by scars too straight and regular to have been an accident, and his eye was a milky white in colour. From the way his head was tilted, Wulfryk guessed he was blind in it, but if he was at all self-conscious about his appearance, he hid it well.

Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. Wulf could not stop the grin that threatened to split his face in two, his pretence of a smile chased away by a genuine one. It was almost too good to be true. "You're not part of a Rimmenese gang hired to beat me up, are you, handsome?" he drawled. Although he could do with a little roughhousing.

The other Nord scratched the back of his neck, shifting from one foot to another. "Uh. Not that I know of." He stretched out one large hand and introduced himself. "I'm Argis."

"Wulf."

They shook, and Wulf was pleased to find the man's grip firm; strong calloused fingers curling warmly against his own. He let go first and plucked the rose from Argis' hand and disappeared inside his apartment for a second in order to use the hallway mirror to thread the flower through the left button hole of his lapel. When he came out again, Argis' eye was drawn to the token.

He looked smug.

"I parked around the corner," the blond Nord said, though he sounded a bit ill at ease with the suggestion.

"Actually, I was thinking of using one of the company cars," Wulf replied offhandedly and, after setting the alarm and locking his door, led them to the elevator. He could easily enter any part of the building, but whoever tried to get from the publically accessible to the restricted private area would find themselves face-to-muzzle with a squad of very professional securities who also happened to take their job very seriously.

"You live where you work?" Argis asked, curiously looking around.

Wulf made a small 'mm' sound and pressed the _-1_ button. It was a moderately long ride from the top floor and he was glad they did not have to spend it in uncomfortable silence. "One," he lifted a finger at that, "I like my work. And two, it saves me tons of time."

"Huh." The other Nord didn't say anything more as he was distracted when they stepped out into the garage and Wulf picked out a black Escalade SUV. It wasn't exactly subtle, albeit more so than his Mulsanne, but it certainly was practical for the jobs he occasionally did.

"Rather big for a company car, isn't it?" Argis asked, hand tracing over the car's hood.

"You can't fit the bodies into the trunk of a coupé," Wulf answered with an easy smile and pulled out his keys, pressing the unlock button.

Argis chuckled, and pulled open the passenger door. Voice dropping suggestively, he added, "Or are you trying to compensate for something?"

"Nope," Wulf shot back, his tone light, and slid into the driver's seat, buckling his belt. "Unless you mean my not-entirely-irrational fear of dying in a freak accident, crushed into bloody pulp because somebody sacrificed crumple zone for engine space... or... whatever," he muttered, his focus on reversing the car.

Argis had to slide back his seat a good bit before he was comfortable with enough space for his long legs. He shot Wulf a brief and most likely incredulous glance. "Really? Then I guess you're not a fan of motorcycles," he remarked casually.

Wulf almost let a vehement _fuck, no _slip, before he registered his companion's carefully blank tone and changed tack. "Uh, no. What I mean is... they're fine," he stuttered lamely. "Just don't try to get me on one."

The blond Nord laughed and shook his head, before he put his chin in his fist, elbow on the armrest. He looked out of the window and watched the colourful lights of the city at night flash by.

Wulf drummed his fingers on the steering wheel uneasily. He turned up the volume on Dire Straits' _Your Latest Trick_, and sang along with the radio, whistling to the music when there was no text to sing to. It filled the silence, and next to him he could feel Argis relaxing gradually. Halfway to their destination the other Nord even hummed along, his own fingers tapping against his thighs.

It was a good sign and there was decidedly less uneasy tension between them when Wulf pulled into the parking lot in front of the restaurant he had chosen for the night. It was classy, without being too formal and he decided to sit next to his date in the corner booth the waiter showed them to. When they sat down, his knee bumped Argis' and he let it rest there, leaning against the other man's thigh.

Argis picked up his menu, turning the pages slowly as he read, but he did not pull back.

"The steaks here are excellent," Wulf said, having already made his choice and received an acknowledging hum in response. He fished out his phone and turned it off before he put it away again. If there was an emergency, then whoever was on night shift could bloody well deal with it. Just minutes ago he would have welcomed an interruption, but that was before he had seen the gorgeous hunk he had been set up with. Wulf almost burst out in nervous laughter, but managed to turn it into a soft cough. This evening still had the potential to turn into a huge disappointment. Somehow though, he did not believe it would.

The edgy waiter came back and Wulf ordered his_ Center Cut_ _Sirloin_ rare and picked the wine for them both seeing as Argis' eyes grew glassy when the waiter recited the selection. The man took their menus and breezed away, in a hurry to get their orders to the chef.

"Let me guess," Wulf began to pass the time while they waited for their meals to arrive, one finger tracing the rim of his wine glass. "You are with the army?" It seemed a fair guess, considering the blond was a Nord in the very heart of the Empire. Also, his physique did not come from pushing papers.

"I was," Argis confirmed good-naturedly. "Back in Skyrim. Got discharged."

"I'm sorry," Wulf apologized for his blunder, though he had no way of knowing the latter part.

"Don't be," Argis told him with an amused expression. "Turns out I don't take orders well."

Wulf chuckled at the statement. Yeah, he could see that.

"Anyway," Argis continued, "Some important people owed me big time by then and after pulling a few strings, I ended up in Jarl Igmund's personal guard."

Wulf whistled softly. Imperial politics were a quagmire, but as far as he knew Skyrim was rather straightforward in that regard. The High King was the leader and representative of the country, but each of the eight Jarls ruled over their holds with autonomy, swearing fealty to their king. All major decisions were made by the Moot, a meeting of all nine sovereigns. Of course there were the ties to the Elder Council, but Wulfryk had for the last decade sent his mother as his spokesperson, and so he couldn't even tell whom the congress was made up of. "What happened then?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I left."

He had? From what Wulf knew, Argis had held one of the highest positions a civilian could rise to, without getting entangled into politics themselves. Why would he leave that behind? "Another disagreement?" he speculated.

Argis' quiet laugh still made a few heads turn. "Nothing like that," the Nord said. "I handed in my resignation after a year – on account of it being too fucking boring. You've no idea what it's like," he explained, "Nothing to do all day but watch over a guy with no life. Now I'm working freelance. Armed forces, mostly. Though I'd taken some time off recently." He did not appear to regret his decision, which, Wulf guessed, was a good thing.

Argis took a sip of his water and enquired, "What about you?"

"I studied economy and accounting here at the Academy," Wulf replied, meaning the Imperial Academy, one of the most renowned universities in Tamriel. "Took a few courses in law. Now I run the family business."

"What's that?"

"It started out as a shipping operation under my grandfather," Wulf replied truthfully. "And then it grew into the largest freight company in Cyrodiil. I won't bore you with details." He could talk about his work for hours straight, but that was when he wanted to turn somebody off. And the exciting parts? He didn't get to talk about those at all.

"Huh." Argis looked up in surprise when their course arrived before he could say anything more. "That was fast."

It was nothing short of Wulf expected, but he resisted saying so, afraid it might sound too pretentious. If there was a queue, Wulfryk Blacktyde jumped it, and when his wineglass was empty he received a refill without having to ask for it. That's just the way things were.

Wulf's steak arrived with potato slivers, cooked vegetables and a decorative salad topping and, following Argis' lead, he dug in with gusto and little care for etiquette. There ate mostly in silence, but unlike a while ago, it was a comfortable one.

"Good?" Wulf asked towards the end of their meal, waiting for the other man to finish as well.

Argis' answer was to cut off a slice of meat and to pick it up with his fingers. He dipped it into the juices that oozed slowly onto the plate and offered it to Wulf, whose only brief flash of thought was 'mouth or fingers'? He took it with his mouth, Argis' fingers brushing against his lips, a little slick with grease. Wulf ran his tongue over the rough pads, sucking to clear them off, and then gave them a playful nib before he withdrew from the brief contact.

Argis licked his finger and thumb, and then wiped them on the napkin.

Wulf remembered to chew, but only just. The meat was sweet and salty, and somewhat better done than his steak had been. Good enough, but he was glad the formal part of the date would be over soon; he really wasn't hungry anymore. Not for food.

At least the gesture settled Wulf's doubts about what the blond Nord wanted – in general terms. All that was left for him was to convince the other man he was the right partner for such an endeavour.

"Well?" Argis asked after a moment, when he observed Wulfryk's tongue caress the spot where his fingers had just been.

"I like the service," Wulf admitted with a smirk, looking into Argis' good eye. "But can we please switch to dessert now?" he suggested with a wink. "Or drinks? We could adjourn to a bar; I know a nice one." This wasn't the best place for talk and getting to know each other better.

Argis finished the last of his dinner, put down the cutlery and leaned back. "Sure."

Wulf signalled the waiter and the man almost stumbled over his own feet in his hurry to get to their table. "My treat." He snatched up the leather folder before Argis could reach for it, glanced at the check inside, and threw in a few bills. He closed it again with a soft snap and stood, the other Nord following suit. Thankfully Argis did not argue about who got to settle the bill.

They hit a club and bar Wulf and his friends were regulars at and which he liked because it didn't blast too loud music or allow smoking inside. If there was one thing he hated, it was when his tailored suits smelled like he had crawled out of an ashtray.

"The Foaming Flask," Argis read the neon blue letters and snorted. "Now I feel right at home."

"Supposedly it's been here ever since the beginning of the third era," Wulf told him with a grin and took the VIP entrance, not bothering to show his ID to the bouncer who just nodded at him and pulled the door open. "A favourite hangout of the fabled hero of Kvatch and probably Tiber Septim, before him."

"And yours, it seems," Argis added.

"Fredas night is party night," Wulf told him.

"Sorry to disrupt your routine then," Argis countered wryly and looked around the dim interior. "Looks nice," he grudgingly admitted.

"I forgive you," Wulf answered as he lead them to a large table in the back which he kept reserved, not just for himself but for all his close friends as well.

Argis sank down onto the well-cushioned bench next to Wulfryk, warmth spreading through the Nord from where their arms touched. He leaned a bit closer until Wulf could feel the air of his breath ghost over the shell of his ear. "How very kind of you. I might have to repay you by–"

"Good evening," a chipper voice drowned out whatever else Argis might have said.

Wulf suppressed a curse at the interruption, and a shiver from the other man's proximity, glad that his long sleeves hid his gooseflesh. "Hey, sweetheart." He thought he recognized the barmaid, Cinda. Or was it Sia?

She blushed cutely and pulled out a tiny notepad, leaning down. "What can I bring you, messere?"

Her nametag said her name was Ria. Well, he'd been pretty close. Wulf ordered a dark Imperial stout and caught the blissful look on Argis' face when Ria told him they had a wide selection of meads, including a fresh batch of Honningbrew.

Wulfryk hung up his jacket and loosened his tie, and then he undid a few buttons to roll up his sleeves. Screw propriety, he wanted Argis to touch him.

The Nord did, running his fingers lightly over a long scar on Wulfryk's forearm. "Knife?"

"Yes." Wulf hated it when Argis withdrew his hand again, but then the man's arm came to rest over his shoulders, warm and heavy and intimate. So he told him how he'd gotten the scar in a street fight, leaving out how he had gotten into the scrap in first place.

Ria arrived with their cold drinks a moment later, and Argis did not bother with glasses. He took a deep pull straight from the bottle and sighed. "This was a good idea."

Wulf could only agree. With the help of some alcohol to lubricate it, talk was flowing easier now. They found a common topic in the recent events in Skyrim, and Argis told Wulf of the Reach, where he had grown up. Wulfryk, in turn, had travelled to quite a lot of places and pulled out some of his best tales.

They both had a good laugh over how their date had been arranged. For the past years Wulf's mother had been bent on marrying him off to a respectable lady, so he wasn't sure if this was a spectacular coincidence or, more likely, a simple misunderstanding, but he was glad for it. Argis evidently returned the sentiment.

When their conversation ran dry – figuratively speaking, since there was plenty of actual drink involved – Wulf challenged Argis to a game of darts. They ended up teaming up against a small group of patrons and beat them handily and Wulfryk bought the losers a round of beer to cool tempers. Argis claimed he never played dart, but his throws were wickedly accurate so Wulf assumed he had either been lying, or had amazing beginner's luck.

Not that Wulf was complaining. He was having a great time. Touching was easier now that barriers were down and he enjoyed every brush of their bodies equally, regardless of whether he was giving or receiving. But then they arrived at the point where Wulfryk felt that if anything more were to happen, it would have to be now. Otherwise they'd drink too much, maybe become friends or exchange numbers, but nothing more. And he really was not a modest man; he wanted it all.

The bar was crowded enough; it was easy to let himself bump into the blond Nord. Wulf was pleased to feel his arm around his lower back, strong fingers digging into his hip. It was more than was needed to just support him, and Argis did not let go, pulling Wulf closer until he was almost flush against Argis' tall, muscular frame, hands roving over his back and sides. Wulf felt him inhale, the scrape of his beard against his neck, desire running through him like an electric current. Their chests touched and his breath hitched, heart stuttering in his chest.

Suddenly the air in the club was too close, too hot, and Wulfryk's pants had grown rather tight.

"Why don't we go back to my place?" Wulf purred into Argis' ear, reciprocating the touch, gentle at first, then firmer. "For coffee," he clarified, eyes down and faking coyness before he let himself look up into that burning amber gaze with his most winning smile. "And sex, maybe?"

"Mmm," Argis nuzzled his hair, thumbs tracing lazy circles over Wulf's abs. "Definitely sex," he rumbled. "We'll have to see about the coffee."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I know Skyrim has nine holds in-game. The change was deliberate. Also, Wulf has short hair and Argis doesn't have his face tattooed. So sue me :)


	4. Argis: 4

Jayturion: I'm glad you're enjoying the story (and HT too!) Thank you for reading and letting me know. I hope you will like the following chapter.

Graphic m/m goodness ahead! If that's not your cup of tea, this is your last chance to back out!

* * *

><p>Argis was glad that he had left his home a quarter hour early. He had not expected having to identify himself to a small private army of security officers upon entering the grounds, or to find his date in the headquarters of Aemilius Inc., a modern building with a glass facade. The lobby was large and open with a tastefully decorated reception area and comfortable looking seats. It was also eerily deserted. Argis' footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet of the empty space, the only other sound being that of water splashing in a white marble fountain which stood in the middle of the room.<p>

The man stopped to look around, not sure what he was supposed to do now. The entrance hall was cast in harsh shadows, the only light coming from a brightly illuminated sign outside and a nightlight that burned over a large wooden desk. A glass wall had been slid in front of it to partition it off the rest of the room. There was movement behind it and Argis spun around, relaxing when it turned out to be the night clerk.

The man unlocked the door to the enclosed area and led Argis past more guards and not one, but two safety doors to an elevator in front of which he smartly turned on his heel.

"Mr. Aemilius' suite is on the top floor," the Redguard announced and withdrew.

And that was when it dawned on the Nord that he was not here to see just some employee.

The evening had certainly begun interestingly enough, Argis mused during his long ride up. He wondered what awaited him at the top, or rather, who would. The whole thing of being set up for this date had the distinct feeling of an elaborate practical joke his devious grandmother Maeve and her friends had come up with over tea and a game of bridge. Elderly ladies with nothing else to do all day were wicked like that.

At the very least, he'd leave with a really good tale to tell his army buddies, Argis thought as he raised his hand to knock on the only door in the corridor.

He had not expected it to be opened by a man with the face he remembered from a glossy magazine in Varus' office – the poster boy of a successful businessman; and Sybilla's one true love.

After that, he had not even dared to hope that they would get along.

But despite the differences between them they did, and now they were stumbling towards Wulf's oversized car, slightly tipsy on the drinks they had had, and very, very much turned on.

The Escalade was something. Argis was glad Wulfryk didn't get to see the piece of junk pickup he was driving - and that he didn't end up having to pay for dinner. He'd only gotten a glimpse of the bill before the other man had snatched it up, and it had been enough. Argis' tastes for a quick meal ran more towards beer and a pizza from the money-laundering, mafia-run locale at the corner of the street from his apartment, and not forty-septim glasses of wine and fancy foodstuffs that wouldn't be enough to sate him if he truly were hungry. Though if he had had a choice, Argis would rather have cooked for them; a skill that never failed to impress.

Maybe it was because his job had him spending enough time around people who had more money than sense, that Argis was not intimidated by the blatant display of wealth. Instead, he decided to enjoy it to the full.

oooo

Wulf's right hand was rubbing over the other Nord's thigh, travelling steadily upwards, while he steered with the other. They broke the tempo limit and ran two red lights and Argis laughed, because he wasn't the only one eager to get laid tonight.

Wulfryk only had to nod at the man in the guardhouse at the entrance to the garage and the gates opened for them. They didn't pass through the way Argis had come. Wulf swiped a card and punched in a code and before Argis could finish the thought that security in this place was tighter than a virgin's snatch, they were riding the elevator up. Wulf leaned against the mirror in the back, a feral glint in his hooded eyes as he regarded Argis with a small smirk playing around his lips.

They were barley through the door of his penthouse apartment when the blond Nord had him trapped against his chest, claiming that mouth with his own. There was no hesitancy as their lips met for the first time, no gentle easing into the kiss. Argis understood the necessity of discretion when in public, but now he had kicked the door closed behind them and pulled the other man closer by his tie, and it was time to find out what was hidden under that suit.

Wulf filled out his arms nicely and his beard scratching softly against Argis', whose breath hitched in that magical moment when their tongues touched, warm and slick and so very good.

Wulf opened up to the kiss, pressing forward eagerly, and his fingers tangled in Argis' hair as one thigh worked its way between the blond's legs. He tasted of the dark beer he'd drunk, and Argis of sweet mead, a heady and intoxicating combination neither could get enough of. They broke apart after one endless moment, quick, shallow breaths shared between open-mouthed kisses.

Then Wulfryk began to back away slowly enough that Argis could follow without breaking contact, their movements an intimate dance in which it was impossible to tell who was leading and who followed.

Argis brushed Wulfryk's suit from his shoulders, and being a considerate person, he hung it over a chair they passed.

Wulf threw his head back and laughed. He was so free with the sound; melodic and throaty, albeit somewhat breathless. And he put his heart into it, bidding you to laugh right along with him.

The corner of Argis' mouth twitched. He bet people did just that, even when the joke was at their own expense. He did not stop to contemplate the matter further, leaning in again and running his tongue over the seam of Wulf's lips, and received a sharp nip in return that made his scar tingle.

Wulf soothed the sting away, gently sucking on Argis' lower lip, while the other man tugged his shirt free of his pants and slipped his hands underneath.

He liked what he felt; hot, defined muscles, slightly damp with sweat, twitching under his touch before relaxing again, becoming soft and pliant. Argis undid the shirt's buttons from the bottom up and Wulf did the same from the top, their hands meeting halfway. Argis felt the other man's smile against his lips and he pulled away slightly to have a look, to drink in the sight of the other Nord before him.

Wulfryk certainly did not look like somebody who spent his days behind a desk. Though where he got the kind of heavy musculature that only came from hard physical workout and not careful bodybuilding, Argis did not know. The black hairs of his beard bristled pleasantly under Argis' rough fingertips when he let them travel downwards from Wulf's strong jaw, ghosting over the hollow of his throat and down the chiselled plains of his chest.

A snap and tug and Wulf's belt came undone, the Nord pushing down his pants and smalls together. He stepped out of both, already hard and smiling like the corporate shark he was, if only because Argis was panting at the sight before him. His hand lightly ran up the length of Wulfryk's cock, thumb slipping over the moisture gathering at the cut tip, enjoying the smooth, supple feel of skin and the unyielding heat and hardness underneath it.

Argis barely registered that they had stopped in front of a large bed, too turned on by the man before him to pay any heed to his surroundings, by the feeling and smell of warm skin and the fact that Wulf apparently only shaved his beard. He caught the scent coming from him, something musky and smoky, with a hint of spices.

Whatever it was, it was driving him crazy.

He licked at the muscles in the juncture between Wulf's neck and shoulder, a faint tang of salt spreading on his tongue. Wulf tipped his head back when Argis kissed up his neck until the other man claimed his mouth again, and they shared the taste. Unlike before, the kiss was no longer hurried and frantic, teeth clicking together as they were both overwhelmed by passion. This time there still was a hungry edge to it, but no rush. They both knew they lacked the strength to break away again.

Wulf's tie was his last article of clothing to be discarded.

The dark haired Nord sat down on the edge of the bed, comfortable in his nudity. He looked up at Argis through his lashes, one hand lightly rubbing circles over the blond man's stomach. "You've got me at a disadvantage, baby."

Argis pulled his sweater over his head. Wulf's hands were already at his belt, and a second later he could step out of his pants as they pooled around his ankles. The other man was kissing down the trail of hair on his lower stomach, and around the waistband of his smalls, before he pulled them down, mindful not to graze Argis' straining erection.

Argis brushed his fingers through his thick, silken hair murmuring his approval when Wulf's tongue dipped into the crease between his thigh and groin. He sounded hoarse when he got enough of his wits together to ask, "What do you want?"

Wulf stopped his attentions briefly to look up, his breath ghosting over Argis' sensitive manhood. His eyes were deep pools of shadow since Argis' broad frame blocked all the light from the hallway, but there was no missing the white flash of his teeth when he grinned. "Your cock."

_Fuck, yes! _

Argis moaned, one hand kneading the muscles at the nape of Wulf's neck, tugging him closer until he could feel the heat of the other man's exhale again.

"Want me to suck you off, hmm?" Wulf asked, mouthing at his base and sucking lightly. He inhaled deeply, and licked his way up with a broad sweep of his tongue that left a rapidly cooling trail of heat over the length of Argis' shaft. "Take off the edge?"

The blond Nord must have managed to say something intelligible in answer, because the next thing he was aware of was being laid down on the bed, and the warmth of Wulf's body when he crawled over him.

Wulfryk dipped his head to kiss him again, and tilted Argis' head back to let their tongues war, Wulf's pushing deeply before he sat up with one last peck. Argis watched the other man open the drawer to his nightstand whilst he licked his saliva off his lips. Wulf returned with a condom in his hand and settled between Argis' thighs, nipping at their insides. He bent one leg at the knee and lifted it over his shoulder, not wasting any time doing exactly what he had promised to.

Argis moaned when he was engulfed by heat, the pressure of Wulf's tongue against the underside of his cock, its swirl over his tip. The room's ceiling swam before his eyes and he pillowed his head on one arm, his other hand tangled in Wulf's hair, following the other man's motions rather than directing them. The Nord knew what he was doing, guided by Argis' quiet groans, the occasional soft curse and the telltale silence when he did something that stole the warrior's breath away entirely.

Argis tried to keep his hips still, to let Wulfryk choose his own pace, but the other man didn't seem to mind when he jerked with pleasure. Not even when in the end Argis' control slipped and he thrust his hips hard enough that he felt himself slip into the back of Wulf's throat.

Instead, the dark haired Nord encouraged the movement with his hands kneading Argis' ass and a moan, the feeling of which sent the blond man over the edge.

Wulf sat up on his heels to watch, his head cocked to the side, and smirked. "Good?"

Argis grunted, not yet up to form a coherent answer.

Wulf nodded in satisfaction at having reduced his lover an unintelligible mess and got up. "I think I'll have that coffee now."

Argis raised himself on his elbows at that. "What about you?"

Wulf stopped in the doorway to throw back a grin at the man in his bed. "You get hard again, darling, and we'll see what you can do to make _me_ happy," he drawled.

The blond Nord let himself fall back again. The sheets were a bit damp beneath him, but the only thing he cared about was that they weren't made of silk, a flimsy material that Argis hated the feeling of. But no, they were some kind of cotton, fuzzy and soft. They smelled of Wulf. He felt himself twitch.

He definitely would be up for another round soon.

Argis had disposed of the used condom when Wulfryk returned with a cup of coffee, and he got a good show, watching with rapt attention as the other man lazily stroked himself while he sipped the hot brew.

Wulf hadn't been teasing before, but he did now, until Argis slapped his hand away and took over, with a whispered, "Here, let me."

Wulf smiled and reclined, allowing Argis to find out what made him gasp and buck into his touch. But hands were not nearly enough, and they needed more, both men following the irresistible pull of their bodies. They ended up grinding against each with Argis on top and Wulf's legs spreading, drawing him closer with one heel hooked at the back of Argis' thigh.

Both were slick from the friction by the time Argis climbed off because Wulf nudged him towards the still open nightstand. He found condoms and a lubricant and knelt in front of the other man's sprawled form. Argis did not have to tell him to lift his hips when he rolled up a pillow to prop them up; Wulf lifted them readily enough with a small smile of his own.

Argis popped the cape of the lube and applied a liberal amount to his fingers. He braced himself on one arm over the other man, to better gauge his reaction when he slipped one inside the other Nord and began to move it gently in and out.

Wulf huffed and thumbed Argis' nipple in return, pinching the nub to hardness. His breath smelled of coffee and something that might have been cinnamon, and Argis had to taste of his mouth to confirm that it indeed was. He didn't want to draw this out longer than necessary, but he knew that the other man needed a minimum of preparation to enjoy what was to come.

Wulf was relaxed beneath him, encouraging him to push harder, to add more fingers quicker than Argis would have. He moaned hotly into his ear when Argis found the right spot to rub, and damn if that wasn't the most arousinng thing the blond Nord had ever heard.

"Come on, baby."

Argis chose to listen to his words, and not the language of his body, which was clinging to him, begging him to continue.

Wulf helped slip on the condom and slick him up and pulled him down by his neck, and between kisses whispered, "Fuck me."

Argis obliged him. Wulf cried out when Argis thrust into him for the first time, his nails digging into the other man's shoulders. Argis distracted him with a languid kiss, rocking fast but shallow until Wulf wrapped his legs around his waist and jerked his hips upwards, urging Argis on, pushing against the other Nord in his desire to feel him sink deeper.

When his thrusts no longer met any resistance, when they did not elect small grunts of pain, Argis allowed himself to sink down on Wulf's chest, the slightly smaller Nord easily taking his full weight. Argis buried his face in the other man's neck, mouthing at his pulse, and rolled the tendons between his teeth, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

Every time he felt Wulf's muscles grow rigid beneath him, his back arch up and his breath begin to stutter, Argis changed the angle of his hips and the speed and depth of his thrusts. He pressed his fingers into the sensitive spots he knew worked on himself. Once he jerked Wulf's neglected cock a couple of times, then he massaged his balls, cupping them in the palm of his hand. And this time it was Wulfryk being reduced to a string of half-voiced pleas and hoarse shouts as Argis fucked him with all the skill he had.

Because Wulf liked to kiss, Argis wasn't surprised when he sucked on his tongue until the blond Nord was no longer sure where he ended and Wulfryk began, they were so entwined. He felt the other man's release almost as intensely as he had his own – the clench, the pull and wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him, followed by warm, slippery wetness. Fingers dug into his ass with bruising strength, drawing him closer, deeper.

Wulf gasped against his chest to move, to go harder as he rode out his climax, calling out in equal parts ecstasy and frustration when Argis held himself still. His thighs remained wrapped around Argis' middle for a long time, but slowly he let go and sank back into the mattress. Wulf raised his hand from his cock and licked a pearly drop of fluid from his thumb. He smiled up at the man above him, eyes half-lidded.

Argis smiled back.

Wulf made a small questioning noise when the other Nord withdrew and whined unhappily at the loss of warmth and contact – until Argis' hands were back at his hips, urging him to move.

"Turn over."

Wulf obeyed and Argis straddled his thighs. He'd gotten off once, he'd last a while longer yet. His extra height allowed him to bite Wulf's neck as he lined up and joined their bodies once more. A deep groan was torn from his chest and Wulfryk looked back over his shoulder, content to let Argis do all the work. For a while, Argis was happy to.

But eventually Wulf rolled his hips again, his hand working between his thighs, slowly at first and then faster. He purred like a giant cat and arched into the contact when the blond Nord raked his blunt nails down the broad expanse of his back with enough pressure to leave red lines.

Argis was almost buckled off when Wulf pushed up to his hands and knees, but he managed to keep a hold on the other man's hips and brace his knee on the bed. One of his hands grasped Wulfryk's shoulder for better leverage and then the room was filled with the sounds of their coupling: the wet slap of flesh and husky moans and, when Argis finally let go of the last of his inhibition, the dull thud of the headboard against the wall.

He came with his head thrown back and a guttural shout, his whole body tense until, when he had spent himself, Argis folded himself over Wulf's back.

Except for the harsh gulps for air, Wulf was conspicuously quiet beneath him, his head hanging limply between his shoulders. Argis cautiously reached down to touch his manhood to find it weeping fresh seed. It painted a wet streak across the back of his hand and he relaxed, rocking gently and trailing his mouth over the ridge of Wulf's spine. He placed soft kisses all over its length and felt the muscles flutter at the touch of his lips.

Wulf hissed softly when Argis finally pulled out, and collapsed back onto the bed. He turned over, stretched languidly and sighed. "That was fun."

"Yeah." Argis felt boneless and sated, and tired enough he could go to sleep right now.

Wulf chuckled and gracefully rolled to his feet. He came back a moment later with a warm, damp towel and, having apparently already taken care of himself, used it to clean up Argis who was happy to lie back and enjoy the ministrations.

"You won't be cold if I open the windows."

Argis wasn't entirely sure it was a question. "Takes more than what Cyrodiil has," he replied groggily.

"Oh, good." Wulf opened a large window and the sounds and smells from outside slowly filtered in, as he stood naked in the draft. "I can't sleep when it's stuffy."

Before long the air had a pleasant nip to it, enough to turn the bed from stiflingly hot to a warm, comfortable nest. Argis felt the mattress dip and bounce when Wulf crawled in, lying down next to him. There was some more movement and the other man pulled the blankets up over both of them. It was enough to answer the blond Nord's question of whether he was welcome to stay for the rest of the night.

A finger toyed with the hair on Argis' chest and he cracked open his good eye.

"What do you think about getting some tests done?" Wulfryk began hesitatingly, and looked up with hope shining in his eyes. "Don't get me wrong, it was amazing, but I'd rather taste you than latex."

What did he think? Argis wasn't sure. He'd rather talk about this in the morning, when he had a clear head and wasn't high on the feeling of having come whilst fucking the Imperial City's most gorgeous hunk through the mattress. What Wulf proposed sounded both good and an awful lot like the beginning of something Argis wasn't sure he wanted to get himself into.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not asking for any commitment," Wulf continued, having sensed the other man's reluctance, "But I wouldn't mind more evenings like today."

No, he wouldn't either, Argis decided. The one-nighters he'd had before usually ended with him leaving after the fun was over, or pretending to be asleep and getting up before the sun. This was different. Even the aftermath wasn't awkward, though by all means it should be, considering they didn't know each other at all.

But to have somebody to hook up with for casual sex would be nice... and if he got a bad feeling, well, he could always visit the army healers. Enough of his army buddies got cheated on by their spouses when they were away on duty, for him to know that a relationship was no guarantee for safety.

So what if they moved things along a bit faster than was usual?

"Think on it," Wulf said softly. There was a moment of silence, and then, "I wouldn't say 'no' to a little post-coital cuddling."

"C'mere then." He could take a hint; the former topic closed for the time being. Wulf was too heavy for him to pull closer, but Argis found the strength to roll them both over so they were chest to chest, legs tangled. Wulf's lips brushed against his collarbone, and Argis tightened his hold on the man in his arms, burying his nose in his hair. He was still sweating slightly, but, Gods, did he smell good. Argis wanted to say something more, but the words lying on the tip of his tongue were forgotten as he drifted off, slipping into unconsciousness to the feeling of Wulf's warm breath against his throat.


	5. Wulf: 5

They drifted apart in their sleep when it became too hot under the covers, but at all times Wulf was aware of the man next to him, be it because of a heavy arm resting draped across his middle or due to how the mattress dipped under the other Nord's bulk.

When Toots had jumped on the bed in the middle of the night, Argis had shot upright, alert in an instant.

"I hope you're not allergic to cat hair," Wulf remembered mumbling into the pillow. Apparently Argis wasn't and didn't mind the addition to the bed, because he had still been there when Wulf woke hours later with the sun shining in his face. Toots had stayed on Wulf's half of the bed, curled up in her spot under his chin, but when, after she had licked his nose, he didn't budge and get up to fill her bowl, she stretched, jumped off the bed, and stalked away, tail held high. Wulf tried to make out the blurry, turquoise numbers that flashed on the display of his alarm clock and rolled over with a groan when he saw it was two minutes to eight. _Just a little longer._

Half an hour of napping later Argis was stirring too, and he greeted Wulf with a happy rumble and a scratchy kiss to his shoulder blade.

Wulfryk entertained the idea of ringing up Lydia and telling her to cancel all his appointments because he was indisposed. He could even spin a tale about having been taken hostage and then spend the day in bed with the man who looked even more gorgeous standing before him in daylight than he had yesterday evening after a couple of pints; a rare occurrence, that. Wulf's eyes sought out the scars his fingers had missed and finally settled on a dusting of freckles on the top of Argis' burly shoulders.

It was just a fantasy, but he clung to it as he busied himself with making breakfast while Argis showered and dressed. They ate together, talking about their plans for the week and other inconsequential matters, but it wasn't until the blond Nord was standing in the hallway with his jacket slung over his arm that Wulf touched on what was foremost on his mind.

When Wulf initiated the kiss, Argis returned it, and not just with a peck on the cheek. Wulf stepped closer, one arm sneaking around the other man's neck, the other down his back so he could knead his ass. It went on longer than any other goodbye kiss he had ever had, and when it grew heated, when Argis' tongue brushed his own, Wulf growled. "I'm dragging you back to bed if you don't leave."

Argis chuckled, but withdrew, and Wulf regretted having said anything. He handed the Nord a business card with his private number written on it, whispering, "Call me," into the other man's ear.

Argis pocketed the slip of paper, but did not make any promises that he would keep in touch. If he didn't want this to become more than a one-time hook up, Wulf wasn't going to press the matter. Though he hoped the Nord would call. He hadn't just come twice in one night, but twice in a round. This was insanely good sex. And Argis hadn't exactly run out of his apartment this morning, staying for breakfast and lingering until, when the door closed behind him at last, Wulfryk's shoulders slumped a little.

He took his sweet time getting ready for work. It was one of the best things about being one's own boss; that he didn't have a schedule other than the one he set for himself, with nobody to berate him if he came in late. Wulf could feel the bruise on his neck, hidden by the collar of his shirt and a lingering soreness after yesterday's activities. If nothing else, he'd have some amazing memories to jack off to.

The smile stayed on his face right up until he walked into his office where his secretary waited for him with a jug full of freshly pressed juice.

"Morning, Lydders."

Lydia shuddered theatrically at today's nickname and leaned on Wulf's desk. "Somebody's in a good mood," she sang out in greeting and poured him a glass of juice. "How was the date?"

"Good," Wulf replied and took a pull from his pink straw. Oranges, carrots, apple and ginger. He sighed happily and cast her an innocent look over the rim of the glass. After a moment he put it down and began to leaf through the folders on his desk while she fidgeted.

"Oh, come on," Lydia complained, draping herself over his table and the documents on top of it, her chin in her hands. Wulf was briefly distracted by her cleavage, but managed to tear his eyes away when she said, "I want details."

So he told her, everything from how Argis had picked him up, to their evening at the bar. He was building up the mood for the best part when _that_ phone on his desk began to ring softly, a green light blinking insistently. Wulf broke off mid-sentence.

He did not have to tell Lydia what to do; she was already on it.

Wulfryk took a deep breath and let it out again, and a second later he picked up the receiver. "Blacktyde enterprises."

He was met with a crackling silence from the other end of the line, and then the person on the other side hesitatingly asked, "Mr. Blacktyde?"

"Yes."

The man wasn't using a device to alter his voice like Wulf did, but it sounded as if he were speaking through a rag to muffle it, make it indistinguishable.

"I– I have a contract."

Most people who dialled that particular number were nervous at best. It was Wulfryk's job to talk them through it, and he was good at it. In return, he received a name he jotted down on the top of a wad of sticky notes. Lydia cast a look at it and disappeared from his office, carefully closing the door behind her.

He knew the person, a devoted investor in the Aemilius family business and an influential politician with a seat on the Elder Council. Moderately high up the social ladder, mostly because of his position as the patriarch of one of the eldest families in the city, but hardly the biggest fish in the sea, and a fairly easy catch.

"Two million," Wulf decided. When his soon-to-be client felt emboldened enough to attempt to strike a deal, he cut him short. "No. Pay up front or forget it."

A brief pause followed and then the caller gave in. Wulf gave him the date of the transaction and the name of the street and warehouse where he was to leave the money.

"When can I expect... Ah... ?"

"Before the month is over," Wulf said and, when the line remained quiet for a moment, hung up.

That would leave them with two weeks to operate after one of his people picked up the money. He wouldn't be going in person, of course. Neither would be the caller if they had any brains. The location was owned by an alias and the chances of it being traced back to the Aemilia family were minimal. Wulf had a whole agenda; an entire conglomerate of foreign corporations that existed in the virtual reality and in deed only. They had homepages with pictures of nonexistent employees, e-mail addresses that were answered and numbers that redirected incoming calls to where they would actually be picked up. Only if somebody ever decided to visit the locations they would find themselves standing in the middle of nowhere with no actual building in sight. And should that exceptional case ever occur, he had a plausible explanation at hand. Wulf had been careful in building the illusion that was his empire.

The impending meeting could always be allotted to business of the auspicious kind. He'd just transfer some money, book it right and label it nicely. Making money disappear was easy as pie when one also owned a financial institution and had the right connections.

"Did you get them?" Wulf asked when Lydia came back, balancing a staple of colourful book folders in her arms. She put them down on his desk with a groan and stood behind him to peek over his shoulder. She had an incredible memory when it came to people, an asset he had found invaluable on more than one occasion. She was also a terrible gossip. If there was a rumour, Lydia could sniff it out. Wulf had never for one heartbeat regretted bringing her into the business.

"All files are in here," she said, tapping one painted nail on the cover of the topmost folder.

Wulf glanced at the stickers at their backs to find them labelled with his client's name and arranged chronologically; neat and orderly, and just the way he liked it. Somebody wanted the guy dead and he had better find out about his mark what he could. He didn't have to search for long before he stumbled over some interesting information.

"He's been selling his shares?" Wulf clicked his tongue in surprise. "_Tsk. _I'm heartbroken."

"Looks like he's about to bolt," Lydia agreed, peeking at the numbers.

"Let's call a meeting, shall we?" Wulf swiped his finger to log on to his laptop and typed in the name. He punched the number that popped up into his phone and held it in place between his shoulder and ear. After a few rings, he heard his call being picked up, a faint 'Yes?' amidst a steady background noise of what sounded like traffic.

Lydia had poured herself a glass of juice and leaned on Wulf's desk with her arms crossed. He wondered what she'd make out of the conversation, one-sided as it was for her.

"Mr. Maro," Wulf introduced himself, "Wulfryk Aemilius speaking. I hope I did not catch you at an inopportune time." Crottus assured him that no, he had not, and Wulf smiled, satisfied. He had the vague feeling that the Imperial would have said the same if he were currently sitting on the privy. One didn't just turn down a call from his not-overly-humble self. "Very well."

They exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, a necessary decorum, before Wulf could talk business. "I have noted that there has been an anomaly in stake transitions over the last week... on top of a withdrawal of a substantial sum." He turned a few pages in front of him and listened to Maro's apologies as he tried to explain himself. "M-hmm. Yes. Of course I understand. But in regard to that let me make you a special offer. For long-term patrons only," Wulf added, and then, "Why don't we discuss the matter over lunch?" he proposed cheerfully, sweetening the pot a bit more. "Have you ever been to Ley Marillin's?"

Wulf shoot a meaningful look at Lydia when Maro hesitated, and she raised one eyebrow in return, quietly sipping her drink. Wulf had not known the man to ever turn down a free meal. That he did not want to go out was a sure sign he knew or suspected that somebody was out for him. Wulf briefly wondered what the man might have done, but he really didn't care all that much.

"I'm sure they have catering," Wulf insisted until the Imperial finally gave in. "Yes. You know I have the best security. Yes, of course. It would be a pleasure. Good day to you too, Mr. Maro." Wulf disconnected and turned around in his seat.

"He's coming. Lydia- ?"

"I'm on it," she replied to the question he did not finish.

Wulf nodded and she left to arrange their lunch. Reception called roughly an hour later that Maro had arrived. Wulf sent Lydia to greet and escort the Imperial to his office while he straightened his tie and made sure his suit was spotless.

Crottus Maro was accompanied by two men with 'Varo Security' labels stitched on their upper arms. He dismissed them both with a curt, "Please, leave us."

The hired muscle took up their positions in front of his office and Wulf stepped forward to shake the other man's hand. Maro was a short, stout man who, despite his balding head, bore his age rather well.

"Thank you for coming," Wulf greeted his guest and offered him a seat at a large table that he had cleared of papers and stray office supplies earlier. He poured them both a glass of water and they made some more small talk while waiting for their meal to arrive.

"I could call my security company," Wulf threw in when he had managed to steer their conversation towards Maro's troubles. "They are the best."

"Ah," Maro said, wringing his hands, "That is very considerate of you. But I have made all arrangements... "

Wulf smiled blankly and nodded. "As you wish." He could easily pass the comment off as a careless blunder and seeing as it was obviously a sore topic for the Imperial, how it made him defensive and wary, he added, "I'm dreadfully sorry. It wasn't my intention to pry."

He reverted back to the safer waters of how Crottus wanted to transfer all his shares to his eldest son. Wulf was happy to propose him a deal the man would never live to sign and sketched out all the details until Lydia came in with a trolley and what smelled like delicious food, and the negotiations were put on hold.

Wulf agreed to send a first draft of a contract to Maro's lawyers this very week and they parted on favourable terms.

"As always, it's been a pleasure doing business with you," Wulf said suavely. "Will I be seeing you at the Evonslate Ball?"

Maro pulled a face, but quickly reverted to his pleasant self. "It would probably be for the best if I avoided public attention for a while," he declined politely, if indecisively. "Although, it _is_ a very prestigious occasion. It would be a shame if the Imperial City's eldest family wasn't represented." He sighed. "Ah, maybe this... misunderstanding... will be cleared up by then."

"Of course," Wulf replied neutrally. "Have a nice day, Mr. Maro." They shook hands and the Imperial left with his escort.

Lydia returned. Sometimes Wulf's office was as busy as the central train station. He was glad when he could lean back in his comfortable chair and let Lydia press a glass of scotch into his hand.

"What did you find out?" Wulf asked, swirling his drink around until the ice cubes clicked against the glass. He took a sip and sighed happily, and loaded the leftover food onto his plate, digging in before it had a chance to get cold.

"Varo PS," Lydia immediately replied. "A minor security business. Small, but reputable. Ex-Legion, most of them. Maro must be afraid somebody will sell him out," she said with a nod towards the doorway.

"For two million fucking septims?" Wulf asked through a mouthful of the last of his tortellini in cream sauce. "I'd sell out my mother for half of that." The smile he shot Lydia was borderline cruel, but it was gone by the time he wiped his mouth on a napkin and tossed it down on his plate. "What's next?"

"Savlian Caius called," she said. "He said he wanted to meet you and take up negotiations."

"Huh." Every now and then something actually managed to surprise Wulfryk. "I thought he didn't want to sell. I remember him saying something about my dead body– ?"

"Well, he does now, and _don't gloat_," Lydia counselled sternly. "He lost his only son when the dragons attacked Whiterun."

"So he's afraid that without an heir he'll lose his lifelong work as well?" Wulf asked seriously. He could play nice. If he had to.

He had recently branched out into security systems. The digital kind, not home security, though if he could find a way to install a predetermined breaking point... Wulf shook his head. He wasn't there, yet. Caius was a developer who had turned down his offer to buy his system rather rudely the last time they had talked. And he wanted that deal badly; the possibilities of what he could do with it in his possession were endless.

The death of his child had changed the man who entered his office this afternoon, however. He appeared aged by years and grief had etched deep lines into his face. Wulf couldn't even enjoy the victory when Caius only nodded disinterestedly when he suggested that their legal department would write up a contract for him to sign. He wanted his legacy to live on, and his work was all that he had left. Wulf was sympathetic and understanding, and on his best behaviour. He could feel distaste rolling off the Imperial, but also defeat.

"It will take some time," Savlian said, speaking of data transfer and initiating the tech staff in a monotone that almost put Wulf to sleep. "But it should all be done by Tirdas."

oooo

Tirdas arrived ere Wulf knew what had happened to the rest of the week. Time flew when he was having a good time and Wulf had not lied when he had said that he loved his work. That he was richer by two million septims was a nice bonus. Jen and Vilkas had picked up the money. Still, the one thing that put a damper on Wulf's spirits was that he had heard no word from Argis. He had developed an annoying habit of checking his phone more often than he had ever used to in the hope that the Nord had left him some message. Lydia had noticed, but wisely she did not comment.

She had, instead, brought him good news that they had been able to obtain some information about the private security firm Maro had hired. Wulf had called for a meeting with some of his more trustworthy employees in one of the firm's conference rooms that night. They needed to discuss the tactics of the upcoming job. The twins were there, empty boxes piling around Farkas' chair as he shovelled the Akaviri takeout Wulf had ordered into his mouth without restraint. Lydia's fingers were racing over the keyboard of her laptop faster than Wulf's eyes could follow – he half expected to see them go up in smoke – and Jenassa was playing with her chopsticks, poking listlessly at the food. Uthgerd was whispering with Njada and Torvar looked to be asleep. From what Wulf knew they hadn't been friends, the former Companions and the redhaired mercenary, but something had changed after the fall of Whiterun. Maybe it was because they had all witnessed their home destroyed, or because they were all outsiders here in Cyrodiil and had to stick together.

"Varo has eight people on duty, twenty-four hour surveillance," Vilkas read out loud, claiming everyone's attention. He held up a folder, grey eyes glued to its contents. "We have their names right here, but we couldn't get their schedules or movements."

"Smart man," Farkas mumbled around a mouthful of Udong noodles.

"It's just common sense, Icebrain," Njada retorted with a roll of her eyes.

She yelped when a rolled up ball of cardboard, still dripping grease, bounced off her temple.

"Watch it, whelp!"

"I still don't understand," the Nord grumbled whilst wiping her forehead with her sleeve. "Vignar had me revise that stupid contract three times already. I've been working on nothing else for the past days! Why bother with all the pretense and make up a deal if we never intend to go through with it anyway?" she whined.

"Because," Wulf explained with a twinge born of frustration at her short-sightedness, "Should the company become a suspect of being involved in the killing - wich I very much doubt will _ever_ happen – then nobody will truly believe that we crippled our own business by killing off an important client right before signing a lucrative deal. From the investigators' point of view, it just doesn't make any sense. Plus", he stated, "Contrary to your belief, we're not wasting our time here. Maro's interests will pass on to his son, who's a good, obedient boy who stands to inherit all the family fortune. I'd save those documents if I were you, or you're going to be working on them again, soon. Besides, if somebody wants him dead this badly, then they will find a way to make it happen sooner or later. Which means we might as well make the best of it."

Wulf jerked when his phone vibrated loudly, interrupting his speech and skidding over the glass surface of the small conference table with a clatter. An unknown number flashed on the display. Wulf frowned. He didn't give away his private number and it wasn't one you could find in the phone books, whether the virtual kind or in paper. Wulf lifted a finger to tell the others to hold on and swiped the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

Oh, sweet Dibella, he knew that voice.

"It's Argis."

Wulf made a shooing motion and everybody filed out of the room. He leaned back in the swivel chair, put up his feet, crossed at the ankle, and grinned at the white wall like an idiot. "Nice of you to remember me, handsome."

There was the sound of Argis clearing his throat. "I would have called earlier, but it's been a busy week."

Wulf understood, having had quite a few of those himself. He let his voice drop into a seductive drawl and asked, "Want me to help you relax?

The next words were muttered and obviously not meant for his ears, but he heard them anyway. "Wulf, you bastard, if you gave me the number of a sex hotline, I swear... "

Wulf burst out laughing. "No, it's me," he replied in his normal voice. "How about... tonight?" He winced immediately._ Ugh, that sounded desperate. _

"Can't. I'm working."

"Damn. Alright, let me check my calendar. Uh- Middas?"

"No," Argis said. "I've got a... night-shift."

"Wha-"

There was a triumphant shout from outside and then Lydia burst into the room, and Wulf lost his trail of thought. "Hold on for a moment, yes?" Wulf didn't wait for Argis' answer, but covered the speaker with his hand.

Lydia was excited enough to ignore her boss's glower. "We've got his movement." She was bouncing on the balls of her feet and Wulf didn't have to ask whom she meant. "Maro is coming to the Evonslate, _but _he is also listed as one of the chief benefactors and the main spokesperson in favour of the adherence to the Whitegold Concordat that will be debated on the upcoming congress." She sounded like she was reciting an article from Wikipedia. Which might be exactly what she was doing.

"Thurdas," Lydia mouthed and, "I'll tell the others," and then she withdrew as suddenly as she had appeared.

Wulf nodded and jotted down the day, then turned his attention back to Argis. "Sorry. Erm... how's Fredas?"

"Yeah. Sounds good. I might be a bit tired though. I work the night through Thurdas."

"That's alright." It looked like Wulf would be working too. "I'd still like to see you. Don't work yourself into the ground."

"Right." Argis chuckled, "Bye, Wulf."

"Goodbye."

Wulf didn't stir for one moment, just clutched his phone to his chest. His heart was beating faster than a simple phone call warranted, but talking to Argis made him happy, roused that fluttering sensation in his stomach that he hardly ever experienced anymore. He wanted to see the other man again, more than he'd admit to, even to himself. Wulf firmly believed himself to be beyond the stage in life where he would develop a hopeless crush on anybody just because of one amazing night they'd spent together, but... this time, and with Argis, the chemistry was just right. He had felt the mutual attraction from the very first time he had laid eyes on the blond Nord. The end of the week could not come soon enough.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I wanted to say that Wulf orders Chinese takeout, before realizing there's no China in Tamriel. So, Akavir will have to do.


	6. Argis: 6

Jayturion: I'm glad that you liked it, because writing those love scenes still feels pretty weird to me :)

* * *

><p>Tirdas was bad. Middas was even worse and by Thurdas Argis was ready to fall on his knees and thank all the Divines that the week was almost over. He only had to survive this night and then he could crash at home for a few hours until evening. Afterwards he'd meet Wulf and they'd have some mind-blowing sex. The very thought was enough to put a smile on his face.<p>

'Just one more shift to pull,' Argis reminded himself, and scanned the room for any possible threats. As far as he could see the three greatest dangers were dying of boredom, closely followed by drowning in the crystal punch bowl, and suffering a gruesome, if probably quick death should one of those huge brass chandeliers overhead come loose and strike the unfortunate person standing underneath it. Argis chanced a quick look upwards to assure himself that he was clear of potential falling decorations and shifted his weight from his toes to his heels and back again.

Over the pianist's music he could hear his co-workers chat away via the headset in his right ear. The soft lisp he could make out belonged to Vorstag, an alright guy in Argis' book. He heard Yngvar curse and Rufus reply. Argis had not exchanged more than a few dozen words with the Imperial, but he knew two things about Yngvar: that he was a douchebag and that he supposedly had once pursued a singing career. Why Argis wasn't sure, when his voice made everybody who heard it wish physical harm upon the Nord.

Argis listened in on his comrades' conversation for a while, but tuned out again when the talk turned into a competition of complaining about their girlfriend problems.

Once his head had shot around when he had caught sight of a tall figure with a dark suit and black hair out of the corner of his eyes, but the man had disappeared back into the masses before he got a second look. He tried to spot him again, but there had to be hundreds of people gathered here, everybody who was rich and had nothing better to do but to compare evening attires and diss their peers over hors d'oeuvres and champagne.

Argis hated covering social events. Walking the streets, planning routes and assessing threats? Easy as pie. Actual field work? He was good at that. He liked a fight as much as any Nord; crack a few skulls and his day was made. Anybody who swung a knife at his client would, within the few next and last minutes of their lives, wish they could disappear back into their mother's wombs.

Even if an attacker miraculously managed to get their hands on a gun – those things were expensive as hell and darned hard to get by without a special authorization from the government; a decree issued not to protect the citizens of the Empire, but because the raw materials were rumoured to have grown scarce since the Great War – he had years of military training and active combat experience and was confident he could take them down.

Argis had his own way of getting firearms – his army buddies were sitting on a clandestine arsenal big enough they could run a black market all by themselves – but he preferred his trusted sword over any modern weaponry. There was a beautiful simplicity to cleaving your enemies apart, close enough to watch the life leave their eyes. The seax the blond Nord carried slung over his shoulder had been a gift from the Jarl of Windhelm for services well rendered. Ulfric had had his best smith forge it and though it had been years he and Argis had seen each other, they remained on good terms.

With the sword, a throwing axe at his hip, his old helmet from his days in the Legion, and a shield and thin, well-fitted plate armour forged from ebony ore – a metal so black it did not even reflect the light, the Nord stood out.

To say that Maro had been shocked to see his guard in combat gear was like saying Argis had been a tad miffed when he replied,

"You don't tell me how to dress. My job is to make sure your guts stay right where they are– in your fat, sweating belly. Don't make me fucking hate you."

Argis failed to be appropriately intimidated by dragons, being shot and slashed at, the general massacre that was war, or the crazy radicals that wanted autonomy for the Reach; he sure as hell wasn't going to make an exception for a name.

In retribution for the affront he had gotten the most boring spot to guard, which, secretly, suited him just fine.

Argis suppressed a yawn and was glad to notice that slowly the ball was winding down, that the dancing floor emptied and the queue to the bar consisted of only three elderly women who stayed upright solely because propping each other up they formed an almost perfect triangular pyramid.

It was time for him to find Crottus. The Imperial was a combination of the two worst possible employers: the nervous wreck and the bossy fault-finder. If he wasn't constantly asking Argis whether they had taken all precautions, he was trying to tell him how to do his work. It wouldn't be so bad, if his directions did not change every two minutes, or were frequently contradictory to each other.

Argis only had to endure one more drive, and then he could unload Maro at his conference, where one of his colleagues would take his place. He felt another yawn coming over him. Shit. He needed a coffee. Argis approached the bar and ordered a triple dose of caffeine. The bartender looked at him funny but obliged and conjured up the desired pick-me-up. The price of the drink was exorbitant, and after a taste Argis thought ruefully that he'd had better at Wulfryk's place, but he sipped the hot brew without complaining.

He found two of his co-workers, Daruis and Vorstag, standing guard next to the grand staircase, heads bent together.

"I think we're almost done here," Argis said once he was close enough that he did not have to raise his voice and the two men nodded. "Daruis."

"Yes?"

"Find Mr. Maro and the others. Vorstag and I will get the cars." The other guard left and Argis led the way to the garage. Even with the smell of exhaust fumes and motor oil hanging in the air it was better than the air inside, where too many bodies were crammed together in a too small space.

They had arrived at the ball early enough to have gotten two of the few spaces, the greater part of the guests had to park outside. The garage was clear and Argis told the others so, tossing the keys to the brunet.

Vorstag caught them one-handed and grinned; he too seemed to be looking forward to the end of this day's work. He took the driver's seat, sighed at being able to sink into the comfortable seat and turned the key. The car purred into life, but almost in the same instant there was a loud crunching noise and the engine died.

"Uh... that didn't sound right," Vorstag said with a sideways glance at Argis.

The warrior got out of the car with a groan, the other man following. He pulled up the hood and nodded gratefully when his friend had the presence of mind to turn on his flashlight.

"V-Belt' gone," Argis muttered after spotting the source of the breakdown.

"Think it's been tinkered with?" Vorstag whispered quietly.

Argis shrugged and closed the hood again. "It's an old car," was all he said. Of course he couldn't completely rule out sabotage, but from what he'd seen of the frayed edges, the failure looked like a mere accident. Maro had to insist on pomp and now they were stuck here. Just his thrice-damned luck.

"What do we do now?"

"You will take the remaining car and get backup," Argis decided and ran a hand over his eyes, "And I'll-" He broke off at the sound of footsteps. Speaking of the devil. "Mr Maro."

"Is there a problem?" the Imperial wanted to know, seeing that they were not yet ready to go.

"We are short one car," Argis replied. "We're dealing with it."

"What are you going to do?" Crottus was already wringing his stubby hands and by now Argis had learned that this was never a good sign.

"We will go upstairs again and wait," the warrior decided.

"But they're closing!"

Of course, first and foremost, there was Maro's _reputation_ to consider. "I'm sure they'll make an exception for an important person such as yourself," Argis forced through clenched teeth though the Imperial had already turned away from him.

"How much time is this going to cost us?"

Darius fidgeted under Crottus' gaze. "Almost everybody else has either left or is doing so now. The streets and the highway will be choked up for at least an hour."

'If we're lucky,' Argis thought darkly. This incident had cost them some precious time. They had meant to get a head-start before everybody else filed out of the ballroom, which was happening at the present. Now they could choose between being stuck in traffic or waiting for another car.

"I am to dine with the Madame Ambassador of the Summerset Isles!" Maro's voice was rising into a pitched squeak. "I cannot delay. How would that make me look?"

"Or we could circle around through the suburbs," Rufus suggested hesitantly.

Argis shook his head. As much as he wanted to go home, he was going to stick to the strategy they had worked out. "That is not the planned route."

"This meeting is of utmost importance!" Crottus began to babble about political landscapes and change, not being ordered about by the people in his service, withholding their payment and firing their leader, and concluded his little tirade with, "I have to be there. _On time_."

Argis took a deep breath to keep himself from doing something foolish, like throttling the Imperial and sparing any potential assassins all the bother, and pushed his finger his finger into Vorstag's face, close enough that the poor man went cross-eyed for a second. "You call backup and follow us when you can."

"Aye."

Thank Akatosh for Nords. They knew how to take orders without arguing. Vorstag left and Argis had a few seconds' worth of time to miss his old job. He wished he could go back, but the very thought was enough for him break out in a cold sweat. He couldn't do it; not yet. Maybe not ever.

There wasn't anything visibly wrong with the other car and though Argis was no mechanic, had spent enough time fixing his truck to know what to look out for. Yngvar then took the wheel and he even managed to drive like a gaping dickhole. He'd apparently never learned what a blinker was there for. At least the Nord was forced to keep to the speed limit by the many tight turns they took.

Soon they left the rich district district behind them, warm lights giving away to darkness, mansions to warehouses and the extensive gardens and parks to graffiti-sprayed concrete. They passed from the Arboretum to the Old Waterfront, over the Rumare channels to the New Waterfront and past loading docks and abandoned fabrics. One such seemed to house a party, blasting loud music, and a deep bass that Argis could feel thud in his chest though he was inside the car.

He could not tell what exactly sparked the unease, but he had long ago learned to trust his instincts. "Turn around." When he did not receive a reply, and the other Nord only took a right turn where a drunken reveller was taking a piss against the facade of some rundown building, Argis repeated more forcefully, "Yngvar. Turn around."

"What're you shitting your pants about now?"

"Turn the fucking car – !"

Argis never got to finish the sentence over the sound of glass shattering. Amidst sharper pinpricks, something hot splattered against his face. He instinctively raised his shield and felt something slam into it hard, and then the car swerved and scraped along a wall, sparks flying. A flash of grey, an ear-shattering metallic clatter and then a chorus of shouts from behind. Argis felt himself fall into the seatbelt and a moment later they skidded to a standstill from the collision.

Maro was screaming.

His hands shaking from the shock, Argis managed to undo his seatbelt and slide down, glad that the old car did not have an airbag or he'd be trapped. He did not think he was hurt, though beneath the armour his ribs and chest felt bruised. A glance to the left revealed that their driver was dead. Both of his hands were still on the steering wheel, but where Yngvar's head had been Argis he could see his spine and cerebellum. The rest of the Nord's head and face had leaked into the dead man's lap. Little bits were dribbling from Argis' face.

The blond Nord yanked on the door handle and miraculously it opened. On the far side of the street he could see the blaze of guns being fired, but the shots went wide. Both of their car's front lights had been shattered, so for a moment they had the cover of dark.

Nobody else appeared hurt, although one guard vomited when he caught sight of the corpse. Two more dragged Crottus out of the car and into a side street while another one provided cover. It was a dead end, only a few metres deep with rusty containers leaning against the back wall. Alone, Argis might have climbed one of the buildings' drain pipes and escaped over the roofs, but he doubted Maro, who by his looks eschewed physical exercise of any kind other than increasing his belly's flexibility by filling it up to the brim, would make it up a simple fire ladder.

"Which direction are they firing from?" Darius asked, eyes so wide that the whites were flashing in the night.

Argis' expression grew grim. He might be half-blind, but his hearing was excellent. "Both," he replied and slapped the lower part of his bulletproof helmet down over his mouth and nose.

All eyes were on him. They might gossip about his past and scars, but right now every single man and woman was looking towards the warrior to get them out of this alive. Argis could see they were afraid. They'd been hit hard and all of the sudden, and already one of their own was down, and any moment the others could fall too.

Even if there had been the time, Argis wasn't one for encouraging speeches. "They corner us, we're dead," he told his comrades evenly. "We need to break through. I take point, Moris and- ," Argis could not remember the name of the young brunette guard, so he just said, "-You there cover our backs; Darius, Maro's yours. Single file, after me!"

A smoke grenade provided the cover they needed to move. Shield held high to protect his head and upper body, Argis took the left turn. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the others scurry after him, bent low at the middle.

There were more shots; closer this time.

Argis dropped into a crouch, pressed against the wall. His shield was the only real protection they had, and the attackers were getting closer. He could hear them call out to each other and their smoke screen was already growing thinner, blown away by the wind. "Do we have another one?" Argis asked and a moment later Daruis handed him a second can. Argis threw it as far as he could and moved forward again.

Just then there was a scream from behind.

The blond Nord didn't stop; he couldn't focus on the front and back at the same time and his objective was to get Maro out of here alive, not the other securities. Another yell, and he realized their enemy had caught up to his rearguard. Which meant he'd soon run into their friends from the other side. Argis turned to the petrified Maro to bellow at him over the music that was still playing and the noise of the battle raging around them, "Stay behind me!"

But when a hail of bullet tore up the wall behind them, spraying them with mortar, the dumb fuck turned tail and ran.

That was the exact moment Crottus Maro ceased being Argis' gods-damned problem and responsibility.

The warrior sighted the flash of a muzzle nearby and reached for the 'special equipment' at his belt. He could now hear sounds of combat coming from behind him, but he couldn't see shit. The others had fallen behind and he was alone against whoever lay in waiting up ahead. He threw the grenade, ducked into another blind side-alley and covered his head as well as he could. Those ambushing bastards would rue the day they had been born.

The explosion that followed lit up the entire street in a blinding flash of white of which Argis only saw the orange glow behind his eyelids. His head was ringing, but it was nothing compared to how everybody who had been taken by surprise had to feel.

In the aftermath it was deathly still.

Argis drew his sword and ran. He encountered the first concussed man before he had counted to four and hacked him down in passing, his seax opening him up from his collarbone to the center of his chest. The man never did as much as raise a hand to protect himself, deaf and blind from being in the centre of the flashbang. His friend, not a second further, died with half his neck severed, coating the chest piece of Argis' midnight black armour in a spray of fresh blood.

The silence shattered when the gunfire picked up again.

Ahead the Nord spotted two shapes and almost collided with a third that appeared out of nowhere right in his path. The figure fell, but managed to raise an arm and Argis threw his axe without pausing.

That left two more enemies for him to deal with. He closed in before they could fire at him, pleased to notice they were standing too close to each other for their guns to be of any more use. Both Nords dropped their firearms and drew the swords they were carrying. Up close Argis could see they were both big bastards. It was their bad luck they also happened to be in his way.

He almost knocked down one of them when he crashed into the man at a full run. The Nord staggered from the blow of the shield to his chest, but the other one was already swinging at Argis and he had to dance out of the sword's path. He found himself – déjà vu – face to face with who had to be the brother. Who also happened to wield a pretty big sword. Argis knocked it aside with his shield on the next swing and went after the injured warrior again.

The man moved sluggishly, holding his ribs through his combat vest. He managed to pull away from Argis' kick, which spared him a shattered leg. His counterattack didn't only come slowly, it barely had any force behind it.

Argis had no trouble catching it, and then the guy's sword arm, careful to always keep one of the men between the other and himself. An upward blow dislocated the Nord's shoulder, and then Argis ducked away again, spinning to escape the second warrior. He ended up behind the man he had just disarmed and smashed the pommel of his sword into the doppelgänger's temple. The warrior went down like a felled tree and Argis lost his cover, but not before he almost ran the tip of his sword through the remaining Nord's throat.

The man came after him with a bellow, furious that his friend had been hurt. The bigger guy was more of a challenge, especially since Argis didn't have the time to wear him out. He was also damned strong, and Argis was forced to retreat from the series of blows that followed. It brought him closer to the wall, which meant less manoeuvrability for him.

A second later Argis' heel hit the wall. His left arm was going numb from all the blows he had blocked, so this time he withdrew his shield at the last moment, letting the sword soar past. The other man looked surprised for a split second, and then the blond warrior trapped his sword, kicking the man off the other end of it. Both blades fell to the ground with a clatter, but before his opponent could pull a knife, Argis used the wall to kick off and jump at the Nord. His shield descended and with the advantage of height and momentum, Argis broke through his adversary's last desperate block easily. The guy went down with a scream of pain and the satisfying snap of bones breaking.

Meanwhile, the first Nord was crawling for his gun, and Argis grabbed his sword and jumped over the limp form of the warrior he had just brought down and kicked him in the head. Because he did not check his stride the blow was only a glance, but still enough to put him out cold for a while.

He wasn't fighting for Maro anymore, or for his colleagues, most of whom he believed were dead by now, but to survive. There were too many enemies for him to take down on his own; he needed to get away. Argis spared the fraction of a second to bemoan the loss of his throwing axe and continued running. He could barely make out where he was going, but this cursed street had to end at some point – and then suddenly the smoke was gone and he could see again. The dumpsters to his left might provide some cover if he needed it, and the orange, flickering light of a broken streetlamp was enough for him to see by.

The way looked clear.

Except–

There was a van ahead.

A man was leaning against the black car, his legs casually crossed. He seemed just as stunned by Argis' sudden appearance, as the blond Nord was. They stared at each other for a heartbeat and then the guy's hand went to what Argis assumed was his shoulder holster.

He did the only thing he could: sprinted at the son of a bitch as fast as he could. Argis barrelled into his adversary just as the man managed to pull the trigger, and the shot went wide. They both flinched back at the boom, and the other man dropped his pistol in favour of having both his hands free to fight off Argis. The blond warrior, hopefully only temporarily deaf, gave the gun a kick and it skidded away and disappeared underneath the van.

His opponent cursed in Nordic and pulled a knife from somewhere at the small of his back.

Argis had to admit one thing: the guy had balls to face him wearing only a suit for armour, and with nothing but a knife to defend himself.

But, as the next fraction of a second taught him, the other man apparently needed nothing else. He spun around on his toes, his kick catching the shield's rim and pulling it along with the motion. In an instance, the blond warrior was opened up wide.

The other Nord darted in, around his seax, and Argis felt the knife's bite only as the sudden weakness in his arm. He renewed his grip on his sword, though his own blood made it slick and treacherous, and turned to keep his opponent in sight.

The man was darned fast and agile, and he aimed his knife at the parts of Argis' body where he wasn't wearing armour. His kicks though showy, were a weapon no less effective than any blade. They came lightning fast, and from distances Argis never believed it possible for them to connect. He learned better when, still reeling from the injury and the unexpectedly fierce retaliation from a man who by Nord standards was all but unarmed, one of them got his injured arm and sent his sword flying.

But what the other man did not expect was for Argis to recover from the blow quite as quickly. He misjudged his opponent, just as Argis had done before and with his next attack, ran himself fully into the shield. Though he bounced back from the blow with nothing more than a grunt of pain, in the next instant the blond warrior managed to get hold of the other Nord's wrist for one moment, and though he broke free almost at the same time, he lost the knife. He had also gotten too close, and with the car behind him had no way to retreat.

The fight then turned into more of a struggle then, where Argis' size and weight were an advantage, although the other guy did not go down easily, and not without scoring a couple of hits that would have put down a lesser man – or one who wasn't wearing ebony armour. But once Argis had gotten a hold of him he didn't let go, no matter how hard his opponent tried to disengage.

His shield was of no use this close, but he matched his opponent blow for blow, following him until somehow they ended up on the other side of the car and Argis, who had had quite enough of the belligerent pest by then, picked him up and smashed him against the vehicle. Once, then twice; until the man looked properly dazed.

He went down with the next strike, although bloody tenacious as the guy was, he somehow managed to hook his legs around Argis', and he too crashed to the ground. But the blonde warrior ended up on top, his knees digging into the other Nord's chest to hold him in place while his right hand was already pulling his dagger out of its sheath at his thigh. He clamped the other one down over the struggling guy's mouth to prevent him from calling for help, the tip of his blade finding his sternum.

And then every part of his body lit up in pain.

The world tilted.

Argis had been electro shocked only during training. He needed to move, but his muscles did not respond other than to twitch with cramps.

The other man was quick to reverse their positions from a heartbeat ago, though his harsh breathing was betraying how shaken up he was.

Talos' balls, this wasn't how Argis had pictured his end; in a dirty street, having his throat slit with his own weapon by some dumb shit with more luck than sense. 'His friends in Sovngarde would have a fucking hoot,' the Nord thought as his adversary pinned him down.

Later, Argis wouldn't know what hit him first – the smell, not any kind of perfume, but the other man's sweat and the faintest hint of whatever it was he used to launder his clothes in, or the sight of his face – what wasn't covered by a black mask. A week ago he had wondered if those blue eyes were contacts. But he had woken up next to Wulf and seen him rub his eyes and had known they were not.

Argis' heart was beating faster than it had when he'd been fighting and he cursed himself for feeling a surge of happiness, of all things. It was the only proof he needed, that his body recognized the man kneeling over him.

He felt the knife's edge bite into his throat, but there was also a tug on his chinstrap and then fingers lifted the visor of Argis' helmet.

"Fuck." The man sat back and leaned against his van, the knife falling from his hand. Then, seemingly on an impulse, he pulled off his mask.

The first thought that shot through Argis' head was that Wulf's hair had been just as mussed up after he'd given him head. Mostly because it had been his fingers running through it.

This couldn't be.

Wulf rubbed his fingers over his mouth, every bit as disbelieving as the blond Nord, and Argis' eye was drawn to his lips. Lips he remembered kissing, wrapping around his cock. He'd dreamt of it, not twenty minutes ago. Of running his tongue over them, of kissing Wulf breathless until they were both hard with desire and, clinging to each other, fell into that oversized bed of his.

The fantasy shattered when the heavy tread of somebody approaching made Argis' head whip around.

It alerted Wulfryk to the proximity of another person and pulled them both from their daze.

Argis swallowed, pulse racing. The footsteps came closer. He wasn't dead, but if Wulf's friends discovered him, he was sure he would be. As if to counter that thought, Wulfryk leaned a fraction closer.

"You're dead," he whispered and got up in a fluid motion, brushing gravel off his suit.

His view from behind the car and whilst lying on his back wasn't the best, but it was enough for Argis to discern what was going on. He saw Wulf round the vehicle and collect his gun. After a while there was a brief flicker of light that Argis recognized as a cigarette being lit. He saw Wulf take a long drag, tilt his head back and release the smoke towards the sky while two people dragged a terrified Maro before him and forced him to his knees.

"You!" the Imperial squeaked and Argis felt a pang of sympathy for the doomed man.

"I," Wulf agreed amiably.

"You will regret this! Boy, you have no idea whom you are –"

Wulf did not let him finish, but lifted the gun and fired two shots into Crottus' chest. The Imperial jerked and sagged together, held up by his arms like a sack of meat. Wulfryk pressed the only half-finished cigarette out against the corpse and turned back towards his car, one hand going to his suit's breast pocket. He popped two mints into his mouth, and calmly ordered his people to,

"Clean up."

It was quite unnecessary. Somebody was already running to pick up the shells from his gun, while the goons bagged Maro.

"What about the guy who attacked you?" a female voice called after the Nord.

"Jen's group got him already," Wulf replied easily and no more questions were asked.

Argis suddenly noticed that the bass was no longer playing; instead he could make out the wailing of sirens in the distance. A car engine roared a little further away. Wulf appeared around the car with the gun still in hand.

"Get in the car." He looked like Argis felt, tired and irritated as he yanked the car door open.

For a second the blond Nord considered refusing, using the dagger he had picked back up to– . To do what exactly? What good would more fighting do him anyway? Maro was dead, as was everybody else. Argis' shoulders slumped. He opened the door and sat down in the passenger seat, wincing when the seatbelt pressed into his tender shoulder.

Wulf was sitting with his forehead resting against the steering wheel. He did not look over at Argis when he asked, "I guess this isn't the right time to ask if you want to come back to my place."

"Are you shitting me?" It kind of slipped out.

For a while there was no answer. Then, "Where can I drop you off?"

"Talos Plaza."

Wulf nodded and started the car, though he did not turn on its headlights until they were a good distance away from the ambush site.

With the additional light Argis could see that he was bleeding over the leather upholstery. He had quite forgotten that he had been wounded. The thought held no fear, just a weary acknowledgement. He'd been shot, stabbed, set on fire and worse, more times than he could count.

Wulf must have seen him shudder, because he turned the temperature up; a disconcertingly thoughtful gesture.

The warm air and the exhaustion from fighting for his life on top of a long day of work and an injury made Argis sleepy. He slumped against the car's door, keeping his eye trained on the man driving the car.

Wulf wasn't singing along to the radio this time, a small favour. He pulled into an empty space when they reached their destination and killed the engine. "You might want to lay low for a while," Wulfryk advised while Argis got out of the car.

He wished he did not glance back and see the desolate, lost look on Wulf's face before the other Nord looked up to meet his eyes, but he did. "Argis."

Argis forcefully slammed the car doors shut, his heart hammering away in his chest. There was always a crowd here, and he doubted Wulf or his thugs would try anything with so many people around. He pulled out his phone to find it smashed and useless, but he always had his trusty PMR with him.

"You guys there? It's Sunshine. I need backup." He repeated the call, before he heard it being picked up.

"Argis! Whaddya need?" Lars' voice cracked in the receiver a moment later, before he shouted at somebody else in the room, "Ey, shutup back there, will ya?"

"I need cover," Argis replied, looking around the crowded plaza. Nobody appeared to be following him. "Listen. I'm taking the underground from Talos Central, direction Temple Gardens. Can you meet me there?"

"Temple Gardens. Aye. We'll be there in twenty."

Lars must have passed his radio on, because it was Rolf who spoke to him next. "Alright. Keep talking to me, Sunshine."

The people on the subway gave Argis a wide berth as he was dishevelled, and covered in blood with the smell of the smoke clinging to him. When the doors opened on the last station, however, there was a small crowd that welcomed him in their midst.

"Sigrid's tail-spotting," Thurek told Argis and fell into step beside him.

"What happened?" Rolf asked though judging by his tone he already knew the answer. "Aren't you working for that Maro guy?"

"Yeah, he's dead," Argis replied tersely with a look behind him. He didn't catch sight of Sigrid, though he guessed that was a good sign.

"Shit!" his friends cursed simultaneously.

"Wha'appened?"

"Mob hit." It was only now that the realization began to sink in. The ambush, Maro's execution, the fact that he was the only one of the guards to walk away alive. Because apparently he had fucked the boss senseless last week. Somebody might have questions about that later, when the Imperial's disappearance was investigated. He was floating neck-deep in a river of shit where the current was doing its darnest to pull him under. There also happened not to be a life-saved in sight. Gods, was he tired.

"Ya need a place ta crash?" Lars offered without hesitation.

Argis nodded. The knot of tension in his chest began to unravel slowly. He was with people he'd entrust his life to anytime, who were more than capable themselves. He knew that he could just focus on staying upright and they'd do the rest. It wouldn't be the first time for him to sleep on Lars' couch.

He had planned to spend the evening screwing his brains out with the handsome and charming entrepreneur Wulfryk Aemilius whose greatest faults up to this point had been that he was in love with scandal and let his pet kitten sleep in the bed. Who, as it turned out, was a fucking crook. And not that he'd counterfeit money or evade taxes, something Argis frankly expected any person of his standing was involved in, but he had to kill people on contract, mafia style.

But that was _just_ Argis' luck.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> This is as far as I had this story planned out, so updates will probably slow down now.


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